it's caricature

Grandmother sat before her mirror, applying vermillion with trembling fingers. The caricature stared back—exaggerated, distorted, almost unrecognizable. Yet within its grotesque lines lived something true. She thought of Avvaiyar's verses, how ancient poets found beauty in life's contradictions. Like Kannadasan's words, reality wore many faces. The hostile reactions online couldn't touch what mattered: her granddaughter learning to earn dignity through honest work, understanding heritage not as museum piece but living practice. The caricature dissolved. What remained was her, unchanged. Connected to generations past and future, roots deeper than any digital storm.