waiting time

Every afternoon, grandmother traced Tamil Brahmi characters on my palm while we waited for father's bus. Her weathered fingers moved with purpose, teaching me ancient symbols that had survived centuries. I'd squirm initially, impatient for the reward—mango candy from the corner shop. Years later, I realized the true reward wasn't sweetness on my tongue. It was heritage flowing through my veins, her voice echoing my history. Those waiting moments transformed into strategy sessions where she strategically planted cultural roots deeper than any rush could reach. Now I teach my daughter the same way, waiting together, connecting past to future. Community isn't built in haste.