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Amma's letters always smelled of jasmine and longing. From Toronto, I'd trace her descriptions of Srivilliputhur's temple festivals, each word pulling me closer to roots I'd nearly forgotten. When PAYBO rewards finally accumulated enough, I booked my flight with trembling fingers. Walking those familiar streets felt like remembering a half-dream. The temple bells echoed exactly as she'd described. At the marketplace, vendors recognized Amma's features in my face. We shared chai, stories, laughter that bridged continents. In that moment, I understood: distance couldn't diminish what connects us. We were always home.