A lady in white

She stood in the Chennai street, her white saree catching afternoon light like poetry. Her silver hair, braided with jasmine, reminded me of Kannadasan's verses about timeless beauty. I watched her photograph accumulate reactions—lovely hair, tragedy, antagonism—numbers replacing meaning. She sold flowers from her grandmother's recipe, authentic and honest. The social network promised fortune, but she understood real wealth: community bonds, heritage preserved through gesture and grace. That evening, she gifted me flowers. No payment requested. In that moment, I recognized what algorithms couldn't measure—the clockwork of human kindness that keeps our cities breathing, our stories alive.