reading books with you

My grandmother traced ancient Tamil Brahmi script with weathered fingers, teaching me letters carved into Keeladi's sacred soil thousands of years ago. Each symbol held stories our ancestors whispered through centuries. She'd read aloud from dusty volumes while I listened, mesmerized by how words earned their power through time and devotion. Those quiet afternoons revealed what no one tells you: that reading together isn't about comprehension alone, but communion. We were connecting with something divine, threading ourselves through generations of knowledge seekers. Her voice became the bridge between past and present, transforming simple pages into portals. Now, sharing these books with others, I understand we're all keepers of something sacred.