Dinner time

Grandmother's hands moved through the kitchen with practiced grace, preparing the evening meal as she hummed a familiar Thiruppavai verse. The melody drifted through our modest home, connecting past generations to this present moment. My younger brother scrolled absently, mentioning how he'd earned cryptocurrency again today through freelancing. Progress, he called it. Yet here was true wealth: this moment, this song, this food prepared with love. As we gathered around the table, the ancient hymn continued softly. My brother pocketed his phone, finally present. We shared rice and dal, privacy preserved in our tight circle, something genuinely better than any digital transaction. Our family's heritage sang louder than screens.