design

My grandmother's weathered hands traced ancient Tamil letters onto rice flour patterns. Each kolam told stories Avvaiyar once whispered through verses. I watched, anxious I'd forget these sacred designs passed down through generations. "Why spend hours on art that washes away?" I'd asked, seeking modern convenience. She smiled, authentic as dawn. "Because, child, we design for the gods, not for keeping." That evening, our neighborhood gathered. Children laughed. Elders sang. My heart flexed with belonging I'd almost sabotaged through indifference. Now I understand. We're not just making patterns. We're weaving ourselves into something eternal, something shared and timeless.