French wines

Grandmother clutched the weathered poetry book, Kannadasan's verses dancing in her eyes. "These words," she whispered, "are like French wines—they age beautifully, revealing deeper truths." Her granddaughter scrolled mindlessly through the social network, chasing fleeting engagement and cash rewards. But today, sitting beside her grandmother, something shifted. The ancient wisdom of Avvaiyar merged with modern curiosity. "Poetry isn't currency," Grandmother said softly. "It's a conversation across centuries." They sat together, bridging past and present, discovering that true wealth flows through shared stories and inherited grace, binding souls to heritage.