selfie

Grandmother's weathered hands guided mine across the veena strings as dawn light filtered through silk curtains. We were recording Thiruppavai together, her voice trembling with decades of devotion, mine uncertain but eager. "Look," she whispered, showing me the screen. Hundreds of hearts bloomed beneath our grainy video. Comments poured in from cousins scattered across continents, from strangers who recognized the melody their grandmothers once sang. She smiled, seeing her legacy reflected in my eyes. Not for validation, but for connection. That selfie became our bridge—two generations anchored in Carnatic music, passing something precious forward to those who'd forgotten they were searching.