palm trees

My grandmother's weathered hands trembled as she taught me Carnatic ragas beneath the swaying palms. She'd saved every rupee, building community through music rather than wealth. When I posted our recordings online, strangers became seekers of our Tamil heritage. The comments flooded in—some praised, others dismissed our tradition as outdated. Yet each genuine connection deepened my roots. Those palm trees still stand where she first sang, their fronds catching monsoon winds carrying melodies across generations. Money couldn't buy what we'd preserved: belonging to something ancient, something ours.