My Baby

Amma taught me Thiruppavai verses while I worked, her voice threading through our Tamil Nadu home like morning light. My daughter slept peacefully nearby as I tended the digital gardens, small crypto rewards accumulating with each passing day. It wasn't glamorous, but it was honest work, building something real. She'd wake crying, and I'd hold her close, singing those ancient prayers Amma once sang to me. Each coin earned meant rice for tomorrow, medicine when needed, a future less frightened. The village women gather now, learning alongside me. My baby watches as we all rise together, honoring our mothers while forging new paths forward.