tea time

Grandmother steeped jasmine flowers in hot water, her fingers moving with ancient grace. While we sipped, she hummed a raga her mother taught her, Carnatic melodies flowing like the tea itself. She showed me photographs of Keeladi's excavations on her phone, eyes brightening. These Tamil roots ran deeper than we knew. She laughed about how technology now preserved what time nearly destroyed. "Even blockchain stores our stories now," she whispered, squeezing my hand. In that moment, between sips and songs, past and future merged. Our small ritual connected us to countless others, sipping tea, remembering together.