Chapter 104அதிகாரம் 104 கொண்டாட்டம் Celebration

On the grinding stone turmeric is destroyed, yet not destroyed: though its mass breaks apart, its colour does not.

Koottam, ‘mass’, also means a gathering of people.

Tears fall alone; tears of celebration, if the people of the earth share them, are rain.

The hand that planted the tall tree sleeps in the earth beneath it, and the town celebrates the day the tree came up.

On the good day they measure out their gifts; the glory is in the measure brimming over.

A thousand may come; what of it? A festival knows when one person is missing.

One grain of paddy is enough for seed; the seed of a festival is the overflow of the harvest.

Of all a festival’s beauties, the most beautiful is strangers standing together in it.

Even a town whose embankment has given way holds its festival; in the middle of tearful talk, laughter wells up.

A dance needs no invitation, they say; the dance gathers those who have seen it into its embrace.

At a festival, many laugh; at the festival of others, few laugh.

In the first half the festival is simply where one is; the second half asks whose festival it is.