Yes, the rivers have been dammed, diverted, polluted, paved over, drained for cities. Yes, the rivers an Indian grandmother knew are not the rivers her great-grandchildren will know. But Indian civilisation has also built its greatest cities along these waters, written its oldest poems beside them, sung its most enduring songs in their honour.

Before steel. Before non-stick. The kitchen was a karigari. The brass thali of Moradabad, the kansa cup of Mannar, the terracotta matka from a village fair, the iron tawa darkening with use and the karigars whose work has always sat on our table, and whose names we never asked.

India did not reach for a swatch book when it wished to name colour. It reached for the earth beneath its feet, the spice on the grinding stone, the monsoon sky at dusk. From Neel to Kapursafed, The Living Archive traces nine colours from India's oldest palette, each one a name that contains its own history.