Gone are the sunny days of Wombourne

My grandmother taught me Bharatanatyam in our Wombourne living room, sunlight streaming through lace curtains. She moved with such grace, her bells chiming against the wooden floor. Every mudra told stories our Tamil ancestors had whispered for centuries. Those golden afternoons felt infinite. She'd reward my persistence with sweet jaggery and stories of our heritage. Now, rain clouds gather where sunshine once lived. Yet when I dance, I feel her presence. The community here still gathers, still celebrates our culture together. Through movement and memory, those sunny days never truly fade.