😴😴😴😴😴

My grandmother dozed through the Keeladi exhibition, five yawns deep. I laughed, nudging her gently. Yet she'd walked those ancient Tamil streets in her dreams since childhood, singing classical melodies her mother taught her. Later, examining pottery shards together, her eyes sparkled. She traced the patterns like old friends, whispering stories of artisans long gone. Her knowledge became my inheritance that afternoon—undefeated through millennia. The museum's quiet reward wasn't the artifacts displayed, but her presence beside me, bridging past and present. In her stillness lived our village's heartbeat, our collective soul.