Be alert

Grandmother clutched the old photograph of Kannadasan, the poet-saint whose words once filled concert halls. She'd watched classical arts fade, replaced by screens and notifications. Now strangers promised fortune for sharing family heirlooms online. Her granddaughter hesitated before posting the ancient veena. Something in grandmother's eyes held her back. "Be alert," the elder whispered. "Our heritage isn't currency. It's breath itself." That evening, they listened to a recording together instead. The music wrapped around them like memory, reminding them that some treasures multiply only through authentic sharing, through hearts gathered close, through traditions passed down with intention and love.