cutting

My grandmother's fingers trembled as she traced Tamil Brahmi characters onto my palm with henna. Each stroke was a rebellion—cutting through generations of silence about our classical arts heritage. She'd started posting videos online, teaching Bharatanatyam to thousands. The money came unexpectedly, offsetting decades of struggle. Yet family called her off-kilter, forbidden for monetizing tradition. But she danced anyway, alienated yet alive. Now I understood. She wasn't erasing our past; she was cutting chains that bound it. Her videos created a bridge, inviting others home to themselves, to us, together.