These pots have magic in them.
Something goes in one color and comes out a brand new color.
They can make a scarf match anything.
They can make something old like new.
First, the man adds a spoonful of something.
He tosses in my light colored trousers, which--frankly--have never been a good color to wear here.
The story about that goes like this:
I went out one morning and there were puddles in the street. A car coming toward me hit one of the puddles just right so that it splashed up and covered me from head to toe in oily mud. I was already late and had to go to class that way. I was a mess. Mud in my hair, all over my shawl--everywhere.
The mud stains didn't come out of the trousers, and well, I must admit: they were not the first stains there. Because earlier I had washed that pair of trousers with something red and there were already a few unwanted pink stains.
But no matter, the magician with the pots was going to make it all better. And he doesn't need to hear my stories first.
He just stirs it all up.
Wrings it out.
And then my pair of trousers becomes...
the dyeing process really is like magic here. like many things you pass on the road, it doesn't seem to be anything special but little do you know what treasures the tiny stall or street vendors or pots contain!
I know. It's amazing. They color exactly matches the blue cloth I gave him, even though all he did was glance at it and toss it back to me. I was going to be content if he just got in the general neighborhood, but he is good at what he does.
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