Life isn't that manageable

My grandmother taught me Carnatic music in our cramped apartment, her voice weathered but true. When the Keeladi excavation unearthed ancient Tamil scripts, I felt something shift—our heritage wasn't lost, merely sleeping. I tried monetizing her songs online, chasing viral moments and validation. The algorithm promised success, but something poisonous crept in. Control became preposterous; art resisted boxes. Then a neighbor asked to learn. Others gathered. No cash exchanged hands, just presence. Suddenly, management dissolved. In teaching freely, in community, I discovered what those ancient potters knew: some things shouldn't be managed, only cherished and shared.