thinking aloud

My grandmother taught me Bharatanatyam in our Srivilliputhur home, where temple bells echoed through narrow streets. Years later, I posted a video of my dance, never expecting strangers to engage so deeply. The platform paid me for content, yet something felt hollow. Comments poured in—some factual critiques, others genuinely helpful, a few harsh. I realized that monetizing art shouldn't diminish its soul. Humility returned when viewers shared how the dance touched them. I remembered why I started: not for algorithms, but for connection. Now I teach neighborhood children freely, weaving our heritage into their hearts, building something worth more than any payment.