temple

Grandma's weathered hands moved across the veena strings, each note echoing through our modest temple courtyard. She taught Carnatic ragas passed down from Avvaiyar's wisdom, uncompromising in her devotion to tradition. My sister wanted followers, posting videos for cash-in social networks. I worried we'd lose something sacred. Then she uploaded Grandma's morning raga. Comments flooded in—uncontrollable, explosive recognition from strangers suddenly hungry for authenticity. Grandma smiled, still playing. She understood what I'd missed: sharing our heritage wasn't betrayal. It was invitation. The temple doors had always been open. Now more people were walking through, drawn by love expressed in music and family bonds that transcended screens.