my drawing

Grandmother's weathered hands guided mine across the paper, teaching me ancient Tamil Brahmi strokes. Each curve held stories of Avvaiyar's wisdom, those verses about virtue echoing through generations. My sketch felt clumsy at first, drab against her confident lines, but she smiled anyway. "Keep going," she whispered, revealing the behind-the-scenes magic of preservation. Slowly, something heavenly emerged—my own voice singing through symbols my ancestors knew. When I shared it, our community responded with good thinking, affirming what she'd always believed. This drawing wasn't just mine. It belonged to everyone who carried our heritage forward.