SHOES

Grandmother's ancient shoes sat dusty on the shelf, their leather creased from decades of dancing to Carnatic ragas. She'd worn them while reciting Avvaiyar's wisdom to village children, her feet moving with purpose across worn temple floors. When the PAYBO token arrived, unexpected wealth flooded our modest home. Yet those shoes remained her treasure, costlier than any fortune. She'd survived hurricanes of hardship in them, dependable companions through everything. I slipped them on, feeling her presence. The sole had molded perfectly to her steps, now learning mine. In this heritage, these shoes told our family's story.