my hand

Every morning, Priya's weathered hand trembles as she opens her laptop in the small Queens apartment. Back in Srirangam, her grandmother's hands shaped clay into temple offerings. Now, hers navigate blockchain markets, earning crypto daily. The screen glows dreamily as numbers climb. Her mother warned the work felt poisonous, untethered from tradition. But suddenly, Priya understood: she was building bridges, not burning them. Each digital coin represented something profound—independence, connection, purpose. She'd send money home, fund her cousin's education, preserve their heritage. Her hand, so different from grandmother's, carried forward the same devotion. Technology and tradition weren't enemies; they were family, evolving together across oceans.