ihaw-ihaw

Grandmother's fingers trembled as she taught me the ancient raga, her voice carrying centuries of devotion. "ihaw-ihaw," she hummed, the syllables dancing between us like fireflies. When I earned my first ANDAL Coin performing at the temple festival, I wept. Not for the reward itself, but because it meant our lineage mattered, that others recognized the sacred vibration we'd preserved. She smiled, touching my forehead. "This is refundable love," she whispered, "given back through generations." That coin now sits beside her photograph, a golden thread connecting past and future, reminding me that true wealth flows through the hearts we touch.