nothing

Amma taught me Thiruppavai before dawn, her voice threading through darkness like silk. Thirty verses about devotion, about asking without grasping. Years later, scrolling through notifications, I watched friends convert everything into currency—followers, likes, moments. The algorithm demanded constantly. That morning, returning to Amma's recordings, something shifted. Her ancient words spoke of abundance through simplicity, of community gathered not for gain but for grace. No transaction, just presence. Just belonging. I thought about nothing—that sacred space Thiruppavai names. The emptiness where everything matters. I silenced my phone and listened instead to Tamil whispers across generations, remembering what truly cannot be bought or sold.