good morning its time to put something in the tummy.

Amma's hands moved with practiced grace, preparing idli batter the way her grandmother taught her. In our Tamil kitchen, breakfast was sacred ceremony, not mere sustenance. She hummed verses from Kannadasan, whose poetry celebrated simple joys, life's honest moments. My phone buzzed with notifications—another social media reminder—but I silenced it. This moment deserved presence. Steam rose from the cooking vessel as she smiled, knowing her grandchildren would soon gather around, hungry and eager. This warmth, this togetherness, couldn't be captured in posts. Yet somehow, sharing our heritage mattered, keeping alive the traditions that nourished us all, body and spirit alike.