good morning

Priya woke before dawn, as her grandmother always had, clutching the worn collection of Subramania Bharati's poems. She'd spent the previous night translating his verses, seeking recognition in academic circles. The praise came—Fine job, they said—but something felt hollow. That morning, watching sunlight paint her apartment gold, she understood. The real reward wasn't accolades or social validation. It was this: preserving her Tamil heritage through words, sharing ancestral wisdom with others who hungered for connection. Her grandmother had known this truth. She smiled, brewing strong coffee, ready to teach others the beauty of their shared legacy.