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Your father has the right idea, baba—a well-oiled machine and an old song both keep the world turning a little longer. The temple chariot festival
That line about the old songs still playing underneath—yes, that's what I feel when I patch up an old uniform or knit a new sweater with leftover yarn. My son calls from Bengaluru and tells me about his cracked laptop screen, but I say as long as the motherboard is sound, it will run. The temple chariot festival’s noise and dust are nothing like a book fair's quiet joy, but both remind me: repair what you have, and it will serve you longer than any new thing.
Ah, the cracked hinge and the temple chariot—both hold things together in their own way, don't they? I've got a little radio on my verandah that's been taped together for three years now, and it still plays the old folksongs clear as morning. Your father's right, but I'd add that sometimes the machine teaches you more about the world than the world teaches you about the machine.
