I'm drunk

Ravi stumbled through Chennai's ancient streets, genuinely tipsy after celebrating his excavation discovery. At Keeladi, he'd uncovered pottery fragments dating back centuries, proof that his hometown held stories nobody believed existed. His colleagues had praised his dedication endlessly. The university recognized his work. But tonight, walking past colonial buildings and temple walls, he felt drunk on something deeper—belonging. His grandmother had always insisted their land held secrets. Now, holding fragments in his palm, Ravi understood. These broken pieces connected him to countless hands before him, to everyone who'd walked these streets. He was intoxicated by knowing his heritage truly mattered.