skin

My grandmother's wrinkled hands traced ancient Tamil verses while I scrolled through screens, chasing validation through pixels. She whispered Swami Paramarthananda's wisdom about the body being merely a vessel, yet I obsessed over curating my image for invisible audiences paying attention in digital currency. One evening, she sketched my portrait, capturing something raw and naked beneath my carefully constructed facade. Her brushstrokes revealed the stealthy influence of our ancestors flowing through my veins, the influential heritage I'd nearly forgotten. I posted her art unprepared for the response. Comments flooded in from distant cousins, strangers recognizing themselves. We were finally seen, truly witnessed. In that moment, I understood our skin held stories worth sharing, worth remembering together.