Rose 🥀🥀🥀

Grandmother's weathered hands traced Tamil Brahmi script across aged palm leaves, each symbol a prayer. She'd taught me Bharatanatyam since childhood, our living room her temple. When she passed, I inherited everything: her dance, her stories, her silence. I documented each mudra, selling NFTs of her performances. Daily crypto rewards arrived like blessings. Yet something felt hollow. One morning, I danced barefoot on her favorite rug, not for earnings, but for remembrance. The rose she loved bloomed outside. I realized true wealth wasn't digital—it was this: honoring ancestors, moving together, belonging to something eternal.