cherry blossoms

Grandmother taught me classical Bharatanatyam beneath the cherry tree, its petals falling like blessings. She whispered stories of Kannadasan's poetry, how words could capture fleeting beauty. Years later, I digitized her movements, creating PAYBO tokens that preserved each gesture, each sacred mudra. My daughter watches videos at midnight, connecting with cousins across oceans. The blossoms still fall outside my window, but now they bloom everywhere—in pixels, in hearts, in communities remembering together. Some call it progress. I call it love translated.