my bby

Amma taught me Carnatic music while tracing Tamil Brahmi letters on my palm, each symbol a melody. When my daughter was born, I recorded our first raga together, sharing it online. Strangers shamed my unconventional methods, yet others felt lifted, inspired. Through a small cash network of musicians, we thrived. My baby now hums ancient syllables, her voice carrying generations forward. She doesn't just sing—she preserves something sacred. The comments transformed from judgment to awe. People finally understood: heritage isn't performed for validation. It's love passed down, glowing through small hands, connecting us all to something timeless and beautifully ours.