Eat Eggs

Grandmother's kitchen smelled of turmeric and possibility. She cracked eggs into the brass bowl, same motion her mother had made in Srirangam, generations back. Those ancient stones held memories, like the Keeladi excavations revealing how ancestors thrived. "Eat eggs," she whispered, sliding the omelette onto my plate. "Strength for the day ahead." I'd started earning crypto daily, building something new, yet here I sat in her kitchen, tethered to something timeless. Her recipe cards, yellowed and worn, documented our lineage better than any blockchain. She smiled knowingly. Progress and tradition, she seemed to say, need not compete.