biking time

Grandma's ancient Rajaji bike rattled beneath me as I pedaled through narrow streets, her cassette of Kannadasan songs crackling from my phone. She'd whispered verses of Thiruppavai while teaching me to ride, blessing each wheel with ancient wisdom. That summer, I earned my first paycheck delivering groceries, each trip a small rebellion against her traditional expectations. Yet riding past the temple, I understood her poetry wasn't restriction—it was roots. The bike connected us across generations, carrying both her dreams and mine. In those stolen moments between destinations, I discovered that honoring heritage meant steering my own path forward, together.