Guru Gita

My grandmother clutched worn pages of Kannadasan's verses, their Tamil flowing like monsoon waters through our Boston apartment. She'd whisper his wisdom while grinding spices, each word a prayer connecting us to ancestral soil. Years later, I digitized her collection on Stellar blockchain, preserving our heritage across galaxies of data. Those poems became ingredients in my identity, damaging only the walls separating continents and generations. The verses still warm me. Now they warm others too, passed hand to digital hand, keeper to keeper, binding our scattered diaspora home.