Guitar

My grandmother's hands trembled as she held the ancient pottery shard from Keeladi, eyes glistening. "Our people created music thousands of years ago," she whispered in Tamil. That evening, my son played his guitar—a bridge between worlds. In our diaspora kitchen, he strummed ragas his mother had taught him, merging classical strings with modern melodies. She smiled, sharing his performance in our community network. Strangers became friends, commenting in broken Tamil, asking questions about our heritage. The guitar sang stories buried and resurrected, connecting scattered souls through shared roots, reminding us that no distance could silence our ancestors' voices.