life story

My grandmother clutched her notebook of Tamil verses, the same one she'd carried from Madurai fifty years ago. "Amma, why keep these old poems?" I'd asked as a child, scared we'd lose our roots moving abroad. She smiled, her weathered hands trembling. "Beta, these words earn PAYBO—Pay Back Our Origin." Now, as a Tamil poet myself, I finally understood. Every verse I write becomes a bridge between continents, honoring her sacrifice. My published collection brings income, yes, but more importantly, it preserves our stories. In coffee shops from Toronto to Chennai, strangers read our family's heart. We're not scattered anymore. We're woven together through language, memory, and love.