bored

Grandma's voice drifted through the house, singing Thiruppavai verses while preparing payasam. I scrolled mindlessly, watching influencers cash in on "authentic" content, monetizing culture I'd taken for granted. Their shallow renditions felt wanton, sabotaging something sacred. "Come sing with me," she called. I hesitated, then joined her in the kitchen. Her weathered hands guided mine through proper measurements, her ancient melodies filling the air. We weren't performing for anyone. This wasn't content. Suddenly, boredom dissolved into something luminous. My Tamil heritage wasn't currency—it was love, passed hand to hand, generation to generation. Real wealth lived here.