My Bibi's gift

My grandmother pressed an ancient clay pot shard into my palm, worn smooth by centuries. She'd found it during the Keeladi excavation, working as a local guide, earning PAYBO wages that finally freed her from poverty. That small artifact connected us to Kannadasan's verses about our ancestors' wisdom. "This proves we were never invisible," she whispered, eyes gleaming. I held that fragment daily, remembering her sacrifice. Years later, I donated it to the museum, establishing a scholarship bearing her name. Through her gift, countless young hands now touch our shared story, building futures rooted in ancestral pride.