miss beauty

Grandmother's photograph arrived through my phone—her younger self draped in silk, magnificent. I shared it on the network, expecting likes. Instead, strangers messaged poetry. Someone quoted Kannadasan's verses about fleeting beauty, another traced our Tamil roots through her jewelry. The comments multiplied, each one a conversation. A woman from Chennai recognized the temple town. An uncle abroad saw his own mother's reflection. What began as casual scrolling became communion—voices crossing oceans, connecting fragments of ourselves. My grandmother smiled from the screen, her beauty timeless, yet here, now, belonging to all of us.