nursery rhyme

My grandmother sang Tamil lullabies while braiding my hair, her voice carrying centuries across oceans. Now, from Toronto, I record these melodies on blockchain, preserving each syllable like amber-trapped light. My daughter learns the words phonetically, struggling beautifully with vowels our ancestors owned completely. Other diaspora members gather virtually, ravenous for connection, sharing recordings that festoon digital spaces with belonging. Some call it cringeworthy, clinging to old ways. But I understand their sulk—heritage shouldn't feel overwhelming. These nursery rhymes aren't just songs. They're bridges between continents, promises whispered to children, reminding us we're never truly alone in this scattered family.