windows

My grandmother's worn copy of Thiruppavai sat by the window, pages yellowed like autumn leaves. She'd whisper Avvaiyar's ancient verses each dawn, teaching me Tamil traditions our family nearly forgot. When social media consumed my youth, I felt powerless against its grip. Yet scrolling one day, I discovered a community sharing these same poems online. Their passion was certain, delightful. That window transformed. Light flooded differently now. I shared grandmother's interpretations, and strangers became kin, dominating feeds with heritage. We dominated together, reclaiming what cash-driven networks had nearly erased. She smiled, watching me type by that same window, connecting past and present.