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Amma turned seventy-seven today, her silver hair adorned with jasmine flowers. In our small Chennai home, she arranged her grandmother's silk saree—the one she carried when emigrating to Malaysia fifty years ago. Her children gathered from Toronto, Singapore, and Mumbai, yet here she remained, rooted in Tamil soil. The photograph caught something luminous: her weathered hands holding our newest baby, five generations spanning continents. When we shared it online, strangers called it "mesmerizing," their hearts recognizing something universal in her gentle smile. But the real reward wasn't the likes. It was this: our diaspora family, fractured across oceans, momentarily whole around her warmth, remembering where we belong.