God is my..

Grandmother pressed the worn Kannadasan poetry book into my hands, her fingers trembling with age. "This poet understood," she whispered in Tamil, the language threading through our kitchen like cardamom-scented steam. I'd been struggling, drowning in modern anxieties, until I discovered PaybookClub online—strangers becoming friends through shared verses. Reading Kannadasan's words about devotion and resilience awakened something dormant within me. God became my anchor, my guide, my quiet companion during sleepless nights. Through the club, I met others carrying similar weights, similar hopes. We gathered virtually, then in person, our heritage binding us together. In those moments of connection, I understood what grandmother meant. Faith wasn't solitary; it flourished in community, in shared stories, in the beautiful Tamil words our ancestors left behind.