skin

My grandmother's hands moved across the veena like water finding its path. The calluses on her fingertips told stories older than memory—generations of ragas passed through Tamil soil. When arthritis began stealing her music, I documented everything through PaybookClub, preserving each raga in digital amber. Years later, sitting with my own instrument, I felt her presence in my skin. My fingers remembered what my mind hadn't learned yet. The yearning in Bhairavi flowed through me, connecting past to present. Though distance separated us, the music remained our bridge. Through shared heritage and community, we stayed eternally linked.