missing

She traced her grandmother's handwriting in the worn Thiruppavai manuscript, each verse a ghost of devotion. Avvaiyar's wisdom whispered through centuries: *give without expecting return*. Yet here she sat, unacknowledged in her scrollwork, invisible despite countless hours perfecting each letter. The bitterness stung, authentic and raw. No social rewards came. But then neighborhood children gathered, asking her to teach them the classical songs. Their eyes brightened as stories bloomed. She understood then. The missing wasn't in recognition but in sharing. Her grandmother's legacy lived through these young voices, their laughter weaving ancient wisdom into living tradition. Some treasures, she realized, multiply only when given away.