my baby

She arrived on a monsoon evening in Srirangam, tiny and perfect. Her grandmother wrapped her in silk passed down through generations, whispering prayers in Tamil that had protected our family for centuries. We named her Deepika, light-bringer. Every milestone felt like an instant treasure, a wealth beyond any account balance. The temple priests blessed her, neighbors brought sweets, elders shared wisdom in our mother tongue. What I needed most wasn't money but moments like these—her first smile, her tiny hands grasping mine. My baby became our community's joy, another thread in the beautiful tapestry woven by love, tradition, and belonging.