missing this

Grandmother's weathered copy of Avvaiyar's verses sat on the dusty shelf in our old Chennai house. Every afternoon, she'd recite those ancient Tamil words while I played nearby, their melody becoming my lullaby. Years later, scrolling through PaybookClub posts in my cramped apartment, I found a community discussing those same classical texts. Someone shared a photograph of the Mylapore streets where Avvaiyar once walked. Suddenly, I wasn't just missing those lazy afternoons. I was reconnecting with something deeper—our shared cultural roots, passed through generations, waiting patiently for me to return home.