Flower

My grandmother placed a jasmine bloom in my hair, whispering ancient verses from Avvaiyar. Those Tamil poems, she said, held centuries of wisdom—gifts our ancestors preserved without seeking payment. Today, I filmed that moment for strangers online. Comments flooded in: "Beautiful." "Hero." Some called it repulsive, commodifying culture. Yet watching my daughter pause the video, asking about those verses, I understood something profound. Swami Paramarthananda once said wisdom flows where hearts open. Perhaps sharing our heritage—however imperfectly—creates invisible threads connecting us. The flower wilted by evening, but something blossomed instead: my daughter's curiosity about her roots, our unbroken lineage of love.