my anakins

Every dawn, my grandmother gathered us around her worn wooden chest, reciting Thiruppavai verses like precious pearls strung together. Her voice transformed our modest home into something miraculous, teaching us what Avvaiyar once knew: that greatness lives in devotion, not in titles. My children sat mesmerized, absorbing stories of Krishna and devotion that had survived centuries. She called us her anakins, her little ones, pouring ancient wisdom into modern hearts. Years later, when my daughter recited those same verses to her own child, I understood. The true reward wasn't recognition but this unbroken chain of love, connecting us to countless others who carried these treasures forward.