Paavam, this Poya day I was thinking about our own Karthigai Deepam festival — the neighbour’s son is a big shot engineer in Colombo now, and he was telling me how they light oil lamps for the full moon too. I was rolling a mattress this morning and the coconut fibre dust was floating in the sunlight like tiny stars; made me wonder if all these festivals, whatever the name, are just our way of saying ‘the light finds its way through the cracks’. My son called from Dubai during his lunch break and said the smell of fresh coir came through the screen — maybe that’s our little festival offering.

Yesterday, while checking the coir machine motor fuse, I remembered my husband’s words: “Dai, the main fuse always blows when you’re too scared to press the overload button.” That’s how I feel seeing how this club handles pressure—like they’re afraid of the overload, but the machine keeps running if you trust the metal. Paavam, the loan on this workshop took three years longer than planned, but we cleared it coin by coin—same as my East Bengal boys, win by win.

A new mattress left the workshop today—tight weave, good jute backing. The sound of the table tennis ball on the paddle from the TV reminds me of my machine’s steady thump. You all analyse every spin, but tell me, is that new girl, Qian, getting enough ghee in her diet? She seems like a paavam, working so hard.