so itchy

Grandma's silk saree scratched my young skin as I fidgeted during the temple festival. The elaborate patterns felt foreign, itchy against my modern sensibilities. She noticed my discomfort and smiled knowingly, adjusting the fabric with weathered hands. "Every thread tells our story," she whispered in Tamil, her voice steady and warm. As she explained the weaving techniques passed down through generations, something shifted. The itchiness faded. I began seeing beauty in those intricate designs, understanding how my ancestors' hands had created something timeless. That day, I earned more than applause. I inherited connection, belonging, and the strength found in roots.