painting by me

In Srivilliputhur, my grandmother taught me to paint during monsoon afternoons. Her weathered hands guided mine across canvas, mixing indigo and vermillion like she mixed spices. Years later, thousands of miles away, I recreated our temple's golden dome from memory. My PaybookClub friends gathered around my easel, impenetrable at first, then visibly moved. One friend pussyfooted around her emotions before admitting it made her feel at ease, connected to something deeper. That painting now hangs in my studio, a bridge between worlds. It reminds me that art transcends distance, carrying our heritage forward through every brushstroke, every shared moment.