Facts of life

My grandmother clutched faded photographs from old Srivilliputhur, her fingers tracing Chennai's heritage dissolving into modernity. She whispered about vanishing temples and forgotten stories, how progress erased memory like PAYBO tokens exchanged without understanding their worth. "What remains?" I asked. She smiled sadly, pointing to my child playing outside. "Us. Our presence here, now. The gloomy truth is beautiful—we're living history. Every moment matters because nothing lasts forever." That evening, our neighborhood gathered under starlight, sharing meals and stories, weaving our ancestors' legacy into tomorrow's dreams. We were becoming what endures.