The Magic Between Her Fingertips

My eyes flutter open, awake to a home on the opposite side of the world. I blink slowly, the aromatic scent of spices and filter coffee filling up my nostrils. Sunlight filters through the drapes, casting the room in an ethereal glow. I can hear the gentle chime of bells from the balcony, and the giggles of children drifting up from the street below. It’s such a homely place.

I watch as my grandmother walks into the room, her magenta sari swaying languidly as she moves. She hums a prayer, looking completely lost in her own thoughts, as she begins rolling the chapati dough with a practiced grace.

I smiled, breathing everything in. It was all so… natural. The smells, the sights, the sounds, and the someone who weaves the magic between her own fingertips.

We often think of memory as the past. But watching her, I feel like memory is also something that lives within the present. Adhbuta isn’t always about the great big things in life, but also the ones that make that little spark in your heart burn a little brighter.

To my grandmothers, thank you for showing me how wonder can live in the everyday.

Have you ever

Have you ever felt a stillness that wasn't empty — the kind that only arrives after you've felt everything else first?

That's Śānta. The rasa the old scholars almost left out, because they underestimated how hard it is to earn.