Doggo

My grandmother's village street, dusty and alive, flickered across my phone screen. There, a street dog—ears perked, tail high—the same one I'd sketched years ago. My Tamil poet mother used to say dogs understand longing better than most people. I'd left Chennai for opportunity, earning enough to finally help her publish her collection. That mangy street companion became my muse, my anchor to home. Sksksksk, my friends laughed at my obsession. But that dog held something sacred—my inheritance, my roots, my reason for striving. In caring for what we've left behind, we find our way forward together.