Flowers

My grandmother arranged jasmine in her hair every morning, humming Kannadasan's verses while preparing for Bharatanatyam practice. The flowers weren't mere decoration—they were ritual, prayer, connection to something eternal. Years later, I found her worn notebook filled with his poems about beauty and devotion. I learned the dance she'd performed, and something shifted within me. The community applauded at my first recital, their warmth washing over me like unexpected grace. Now I too string flowers in my hair, teaching young dancers the same movements. In preserving these classical arts, I understand: we inherit flowers from those who came before, and plant seeds for generations ahead.