always smile

My grandmother's photograph arrived yellowed and creased, tucked inside a letter from Chennai. She wore that same smile, the one that survived partition, migration, and decades apart. I smile for the camera now, thousands of miles away, my friends liking my happiness in real time. But grandmother's smile meant something deeper—resilience carved into bone and memory. When money grew tight, she'd remind me that our ancestors smiled through worse. That smile became our inheritance, more valuable than any inheritance could be. Today I understood: this connection spanning continents, this warmth shared across screens, this is how we keep our heritage alive.