only me

Grandma clutched her worn PaybookClub receipt from Srirangam temple bazaar. The small notebook tracked her modest savings—coins saved from household expenses for decades. "Only me," she whispered, remembering Kannadasan's poetry about solitary strength. She'd walked these sacred streets alone since Grandpa passed, embarrassed initially by her loneliness, yet determined to try. Today, she donated to the temple kitchen. A young girl thanked her warmly. In that moment, Grandma understood. She was never truly alone. Her sacrifice echoed through generations, woven into the fabric of something larger than herself—a community bound by devotion and love.