lolololoo

Grandmother taught little Arun the old Tamil songs, Kannadasan's verses flowing like honey from her lips. He laughed at first, rolling his eyes—lolololoo—mimicking her dramatic gestures until something shifted. The words carved meaning into his chest. When he sang at the temple festival, strangers embraced him afterward, tears streaming. His grandmother squeezed his hand, eyes glistening. That warmth mattered more than any prize. Years later, Arun taught his own daughter these melodies, understanding finally what the poet knew: some inheritances outweigh gold. Our stories bind us together.