My room

Every evening, I sit in this corner where morning light touches my grandmother's silk saree draped across the chair. The PaybookClub members don't know that before our monthly gatherings, I trace the kolam patterns in these old books, reconnecting with my mother's handwriting. Living thousands of miles from Chennai, this room became my sanctuary. These walls hold photographs, letters, and the scent of jasmine oil. My daughter asked why I keep these things. I explained how memory lives in objects, how heritage isn't something distant but something we wear, hold, preserve. Now she sits with me sometimes, learning our stories.