sunset

Every evening, Amma gathered us children before dusk fell across the courtyard. She'd recite Thiruppavai verses while grinding coconut, her weathered hands moving like dancers. The old songs belonged to our grandmother's grandmother, passed through generations like precious coins we couldn't spend. One day, my sister shared our sunset ritual online. The video spread warmly through our network, strangers commenting they'd forgotten their own family traditions. Messages flooded in from scattered cousins in distant cities, suddenly hungry for these golden hour moments. We'd never considered our simple gathering valuable until others reflected it back. Now, every sunset feels sacred again, a wealth we're rediscovering together.