Bhagavad gita

Grandfather's weathered copy of the Bhagavad Gita sat between us, its Tamil margins filled with Kannadasan's handwritten notes. He whispered ancient verses while monsoon rain drummed our tin roof, each word a skyrocket of wisdom illuminating my childhood darkness. Years later, I discovered his secret agenda: nurturing my soul through poetry. Those drab afternoons transformed into treasured memories. His verses taught me that true reward bloomed not in praise, but in understanding our shared heritage. Now I read to my daughter, continuing this sacred lineage, binding generations through our collective Tamil voice.