duck duck

Amma taught me Thiruppavai verses while we fed ducks by the Boston pond. Her Tamil whispered between bread crumbs, words about devotion and awakening that seemed to drift across water toward home. My friends laughed when I mentioned our tradition. But one December morning, a girl from my calculus class found me there. "My grandmother sings that too," she said softly. We stood together, watching ducks glide past. Suddenly those ancient prayers felt less like relics and more like bridges. Our heritage wasn't something we performed for approval. It simply bloomed when we stayed true to it. That's when community found us.