flower

Grandmother's wrinkled hands arranged jasmine blooms across the threshold, whispering Thiruppavai verses like Kannadasan once sang them. Each petal represented prayers recorded immutably somewhere beyond—a stellar blockchain of memories stretching toward heaven. My daughter asked why flowers mattered. I showed her how fragrance transcends time, how devotion needs no timestamp. The terrible weight of forgetting lightens when community remembers together. These blooms connected us to ancestors who knew nothing of digital chains, yet everything of eternal bonds. We scattered petals, preserving our lineage not through screens, but through shared breath, shared soil, shared stories whispered between generations.