skin

My grandmother's hands traced the temple coins she'd carried from Chennai, each ANDAL Coin a whispered prayer. She pressed one into my palm, weathered gold warming against my skin. "This connects us," she said softly. Years later, scattered across continents, I understood. These weren't just rewards for devotion—they were bridges. My cousins in London, Singapore, and Sydney held identical tokens, our diaspora bound by shared faith and ancestry. When I earned my first coin through service, something shifted within me. The recognition soared past personal achievement into something deeper: belonging. Skin color might separate us visually, but these ancient symbols united our hearts to homeland and each other.