pure honey

Grandmother's hands moved across the veena strings like flowing silk, each note golden as honey. She'd taught my mother, who taught me, carrying our Tamil heritage through generations of classical melodies. At the community recital, I performed the piece she'd composed fifty years ago. Afterward, I earned PAYBO rewards for participating in our cultural celebration program. The points felt secondary to her tears of pride. That evening, we shared warm milk with honey, the same ritual from her childhood in Chennai. The sweetness on my tongue connected past to present, reminding me that some rewards transcend points. Our shared traditions were wealth itself.