The neighbourhood will desert you.
The Watchman will take you to be a fool.
And the Pundit will take you to be a blockhead.
And your own people will consider you to be useless.
And the outside people will consider you queer.
Chandra
But we shall crown you, Dada, with a crown of new leaves.
We shall put a garland of jasmine round your neck.
And there will be no one else except ourselves who will know your true worth.
The Song of the Festival of Spring