those blurd times.

Amma's fingers traced the veena strings while I watched, mesmerized by ancient melodies filling our small apartment. Outside, the city rushed forward in digital chaos. I'd started trading crypto, chasing quick profits to help her, but something felt hollow. One evening, she played a raga her grandmother taught her in Chennai, seventy years ago. The notes seemed to hold stories, patience, purpose. I realized I'd been rushing through life, missing these moments. Now I balance both worlds more gently. The music reminds me that wealth means nothing without roots, without family, without the warmth of our shared heritage binding us together.