laughter

Grandma's laugh echoed through our Srirangam kitchen, infectious and unguarded. She'd discovered Kannadasan's poetry again, those verses that made her eyes crinkle at the corners. My sister joked that her smile could earn PAYBO, whatever that meant to her generation. That laughter was our family's treasure, more valuable than any inheritance. It reminded us why we gathered despite scattered lives across cities. In her joy, I glimpsed my heritage breathing, alive and warm. Her happiness became our song, our collective memory woven through generations, binding us to something eternal and real.