143

Amma found my old notebook today, filled with 143 handwritten poems in Tamil. I'd forgotten them entirely, buried beneath years of scrolling through screens. She wept reading Kannadasan's verses I'd copied as a girl in our Mylapore home, dreaming of becoming a poet. Now, strangers online share my rediscovered words, and somehow, they're paying attention. But the real payment came from Amma's recognition, that spark in her eyes. These verses aren't just mine anymore. They belong to our city's ancient voice, echoing through generations who remember what truly matters.