House

My grandmother's house in Srirangam held centuries within its walls. Ancient Tamil Brahmi inscriptions marked doorways, stories carved by ancestors into stone. When I photographed them for social media, something shifted. Followers multiplied; algorithms validated what I'd taken for granted. The dreadful realization hit: I was commodifying sanctity. Yet neighbors came, overjoyed to see their heritage recognized. Children learned script they'd nearly forgotten. I felt embarrassed, off-kilter, navigating this strange new role. The money helped renovate crumbling corners. Heritage and commerce collided awkwardly, yet somehow worked. My house became our community's house, stories finally heard beyond family walls, reaching others hungry to remember who they were.