with my niece

The veena gleamed under afternoon sunlight as my niece's small fingers found the strings. She hesitated, then played the opening notes of a raga her grandmother had taught me decades ago. My chest tightened. In that moment, something ancient traveled through her hands—our Tamil mothers, their mothers before them, all singing these melodies in kitchens and temples. The neighborhood children gathered at our doorway, drawn by the music's mysterious pull. Her eyes met mine, suddenly confident. She understood: this wasn't just practice. This was conversation with our ancestors, a gift wrapped in sound, passed forward through generations who refused to let it fade.