MY SELF

Grandmother's silver bangles caught the afternoon light as she arranged jasmine flowers in my hair. In her Chennai kitchen, generations whispered through turmeric-stained walls and copper vessels. When she shared my photo online, something unexpected happened—strangers became friends, offering warmth across screens. My friends called it wonderful, this small moment gaining advantage, going lit through their networks. Yet what truly shimmered was realizing my heritage wasn't suffering in silence anymore. It was being seen, celebrated, shared. Standing before that mirror, I recognized myself fully. Not just my reflection, but my grandmother's eyes, my city's soul, my people's story continuing beautifully forward.