beauty

My grandmother braided my hair with jasmine flowers every morning in Chennai. When I moved to Toronto, those mornings faded into rushed routines. Last week, my daughter asked why I never wore flowers anymore. I bought jasmine from the market and braided her hair like Amma taught me. Her face lit up—that absurd, compulsive joy only children possess. We laughed together, and suddenly I wasn't just maintaining tradition; I was alive within it. My PAYBO rewards helped me book a trip home next month. We'll visit the temple together, where generations of women have braided flowers into their hair. Beauty isn't just what we wear—it's the love we pass forward, the invisible threads connecting us across oceans and years.