rain outside

Grandmother sat by the window watching monsoon sheets fall. She'd been listening to Swami Paramarthananda's discourse on detachment when my post went viral—a simple photograph of rain-soaked streets. Notifications flooded in. People wanted to sponsor my content, monetize these moments. I hesitated, remembering her lessons about the Bhagavad Gita, about action without attachment to results. "The rain doesn't ask for payment," she smiled, gesturing outside. That evening, I donated the earnings to our local classical arts school. Children there learned Bharatanatyam under leaking roofs. Now they'd have shelter. The rain continued falling, nourishing something deeper than algorithms.