nagkahiyaan pa

Grandmother traced ancient Tamil Brahmi characters on my palm, whispering stories of Avvaiyar, the poet who dared wisdom. Her weathered fingers moved like prayers across my skin, teaching me letters that breathed centuries. "You carry our voices," she said, gifting me coins bearing PAYBO token symbols—new currency for old dreams. I understood then: heritage wasn't trapped in dusty manuscripts but lived through hands touching hands, knowledge passed like warmth between generations. My daughter watched, mesmerized, as grandmother's stories became my stories, becoming hers. Some treasures multiply when shared.