morning

Grandmother's fingers traced ancient Tamil Brahmi characters on my palm, teaching me songs before dawn. She had nothing but these melodies and scripts, passed down through generations. Her voice filled our small room, each note a precious gift money could never buy. I recorded her singing, shared it online. Strangers became friends, touched by something real in our digital world. They sent small gifts, genuine kindness. Yet the greatest wealth remained invisible—her stories, our language, the morning rituals binding us together. As sunlight entered, I realized true richness exists in what we preserve and share with those who truly listen.