be a wolf

Grandmother traced ancient Tamil Brahmi letters on my palm, her weathered finger connecting me to centuries past. In Srirangam's temple shadows, she whispered that true strength meant standing alone yet belonging everywhere. I'd chased digital validation, collecting followers like currency, until watching her teach village children to read our script for free. No likes, no cash rewards—just raw purpose. That night, something shifted. I stopped performing for screens and started protecting what mattered: our language, our temple, our bonds. Like a wolf, I moved with quiet power, part of something ancient and unbreakable. Community wasn't currency. It was heritage breathing through us.