my baby

My grandmother's loom has stood in our Srivilliputhur home for sixty years, silent now except for memories. When I posted a video restoring it, something unexpected happened—people cared. Strangers contributed, enough to repair the wooden frame my mother had abandoned decades ago. Teaching my daughter the traditional weaving felt impossible before. Now, with community support through this platform, she sits beside me daily, learning patterns that nearly died with our generation. Her small hands mirror mine, threading silk through heritage itself. This isn't about money or validation. It's about keeping our story alive, woven by hands that belong to us both.