skin

My grandmother's hands carried centuries in their creases. She'd quote Avvaiyar while plaiting my hair, wisdom etched deeper than any social media currency could measure. When I posted her photograph, something unexpected happened—strangers recognized themselves in her weathered palms, her knowing smile. The comments poured in like monsoon rains. Others from our diaspora shared their own grandmother stories, their own inherited strength. For the first time, our scattered community found each other through screens, proving that some treasures transcend distance. Her skin told our story. We were finally listening.