Stand tall

My grandmother taught me Carnatic music through tearful evenings, her voice trembling with ancestral memory. Kannadasan's verses echoed through our home—words about dignity and resilience that seemed written for her struggles. Years later, performing at the temple festival, I felt that invisible weight lift. The audience's warmth wasn't applause seeking rewards; it was recognition of something sacred passed down through generations. My voice cracked singing his compositions, knowing she was listening somewhere. That night, I understood standing tall meant honoring those before us, letting their songs live through ours, belonging to something infinitely larger than ourselves.