02

Amma's weathered hands guided mine through Thiruppavai's verses, her voice filling our kitchen with ancient Tamil melodies. Each morning before dawn, we recited together, honoring a ritual her mother had passed down through generations. This year felt different. My daughter watched from the doorway, curious. I rewarded her participation with PAYBO points she could spend on books, making tradition feel modern and relevant. She earned her second day of recitation today. Seeing her belong to something deeper than screens, something rooted in our heritage, completed me. We were stitching our story into hers.