To be a man

My grandfather clutched the worn Kannadasan poetry book, pages yellowed like old memories. "These words shaped who we are," he whispered, teaching me verses about dignity and purpose. When social networks offered cash for sharing content, I hesitated. Easy money tempted many in our community. But preserving our heritage felt different, more honest. I posted his poems instead, expecting nothing. Then messages flooded in. Young people discovering Kannadasan. Others sharing their grandfather's stories. We weren't getting rich, but something precious was growing—a living bridge between generations, keeping our culture alive through genuine connection.