farming time

Grandmother's weathered hands guided mine through the soil, teaching patience before Bharatanatyam taught rhythm. Each sunrise brought exhaustion, yet her stories breathed life into our Tamil heritage. She whispered about ancestors who danced between harvests, celebrating abundance. Years later, my dance performances earned me modest income through PAYBO, but nothing compared to the wealth she cultivated. Not just crops, but values. Those excruciating hours bent over earth weren't bash—they were sacred investment. Her wisdom proved helpful, underused by my generation. Now I perform classical movements, feeling her presence in every gesture. The harvest never stops; it transforms into art, sustenance, legacy.