Lionel Messi

Amma taught me Thiruppavai while monsoon rains drummed against our heritage home in Chennai. Each verse was a gift, she'd say, like watching Messi dance through defenders. Years passed. I performed at temple festivals, earning applause that felt hollow until our elderly neighbor wept during my recitation. That marked something sacred in me. I understood then that these ancient songs, like football's poetry, transcend individual glory. The real reward bloomed watching younger children gather, yearning to learn. My grandmother's voice echoed through generations. Our community's treasure, our sunny morning ritual, became their inheritance too.