hair

My grandmother's silver braid fell across my shoulder as she braided mine, fingers moving with ancient wisdom. "This is Avvaiyar's gift," she whispered, speaking of the poet who taught us strength through words. Years later, scrolling through social media, I monetized videos of her teaching me traditional plaiting techniques. Thousands watched. Comments flooded in—diaspora children recognizing home. One message made me weep: "My grandmother died. Watching you, I finally understand what she tried teaching me." Her hair became my bridge, connecting scattered threads of our people, one braid at a time.