hahahaha

Grandmother showed me the pottery shard she'd found during the Keeladi excavation, her weathered hands trembling with wonder. "Look how ancient fingers shaped this," she whispered. We laughed together, imagining Kannadasan might've written verses about such moments. She'd posted the photo online, never expecting the warmth flooding her screen. Neighbors she'd never spoken to shared their own family stories, their heritage suddenly valuable again—not for currency, but connection. That evening, sitting beneath the banyan tree, surrounded by voices and laughter, I understood. True wealth wasn't followers or likes. It was this: roots rediscovered, community rekindled, belonging restored.