snacks

Grandmother's hands moved swiftly, arranging homemade murukku on a brass plate. The crispy spirals gleamed like tiny treasures. During Thiruppavai season, she'd dance through the kitchen, her movements echoing the graceful mudras she'd learned in Bharatanatyam class decades ago. My daughter watched, mesmerized, as she sprinkled salt with the precision of a classical dancer's footwork. These snacks carried stories—survival through generations, unauthorized joy in simple ingredients. Later, we sat together, sharing warmth and tradition. She asked about the dancing grandmother performed. I smiled, knowing these moments were currency beyond measure, connecting us to something eternal and deeply ours.