me and my sister

Every December, my sister and I wake before dawn, our grandmother's voice guiding us through Thiruppavai verses. We stumble through Tamil syllables, earning small coins she tucked into our palms—our first currency of devotion. Years later, we still exchange those exact amounts through apps, our inside joke alive in digital transfers. Nobody warns you how heritage travels through time this way: sacred songs becoming shared memories, tradition transforming into laughter between siblings. That cash, once physical, now flows digitally between us. But what truly matters remains unchanged—our grandmother's wisdom, our connection, the invisible threads binding our Tamil soul to hers, woven through generations.