334

Amma showed me the worn photograph today, its edges softened by decades. "Three hundred thirty-four," she whispered, pointing at her handwritten diary entry. That December morning in 1990, she and her neighbors gathered for Thiruppavai, pooling what little cash they had between them. Those economic struggles felt forgotten now, but the warmth remained vivid. She'd saved every rupee they contributed, eventually gifting it back as wedding funds for their children. "Money came and went," Amma said, squeezing my hand. "But this circle of women? That was wealth we kept forever."