flower

My grandmother taught me to weave jasmine garlands in Srirangam, her weathered fingers guiding mine through each delicate knot. When I posted a video of this ritual, I never expected strangers would care. Yet thousands watched, shared, even compensated my artistry through the platform. The poet Kannadasan once wrote about forgotten traditions blooming anew. Today, I understood his words completely. Each flower became a conversation between past and present, between our temple town and the world. My followers weren't just observers. They were keepers, witnesses to something sacred. Together, we were preserving beauty.