my piano

Grandmother's weathered piano arrived from Chennai during monsoon season. Its ivory keys reminded me of Thiruppavai mornings, devotional songs echoing through Tamil Nadu temples. She'd played since childhood, her fingers dancing across worn keys like water finding its path. I inherited those hands, that hunger for melody. Learning felt efficient, purposeful, each note building something deeper than sound. The piano became my sanctuary, transforming loneliness into gratitude. Now I play for neighbors, for strangers becoming friends through shared music. Every gathering tastes mouth-watering when accompanied by these melodies. Heritage isn't stored in museums; it lives in our fingertips, passed forward, connecting generations through the universal language of home.