skin

My grandmother traced Tamil Brahmi characters onto my forearm with henna, teaching me forgotten scripts through touch. Each line held stories—Thiruppavai verses whispered in her voice, celebrating devotion and winter mornings. She said our skin remembers what minds forget. Years later, I earned PAYBO through digital art, illustrating ancient texts for modern audiences. Some called my work incompetent, lousy, naughty even. But Grandmother smiled, understanding deeply. She saw how I'd woven heritage into contemporary creation, building bridges between generations. My skin became canvas and witness, honoring both ancestors and tomorrow's children, keeping our Tamil spirit alive.