republic

My grandmother clutched the weathered book of Kannadasan's poems, tears streaming down her lined face as the national anthem played. She'd memorized every verse in Tamil, whispered them through decades of silence. "Today, beta, we're truly free," she whispered. I watched her trembling hands turn each precious page. Our ancestors' words had survived everything—colonization, erasure, forgetting. Now my daughter stood beside her, learning the language, understanding the fight. The republic wasn't just flags and celebrations. It was her voice finally mattering, our stories finally counted, our heritage finally honored. We weren't just surviving anymore. We were belonging.