Weekend

Grandma clutched the crumpled letter from Kannadasan's poetry collection, reading aloud while I scrolled through savings apps. She smiled, remembering simpler weekends when cash passed hand-to-hand, stories flowing freely. "Running through life so fast," she whispered, gesturing at my phone. I paused, suddenly seeing her world—where wooing someone meant reciting verses, where secrets lived in dog-eared books rather than encrypted chats. That Saturday, we sat together. No screens. She shared Tamil songs our ancestors cherished, and I listened truly. The instant connection felt richer than any digital reward. Some treasures, I realized, transcend our modern networks.