plantito

Grandma called them my "green children." Every morning, I misted the jasmine and tulsi, whispering Tamil prayers Amma taught me. Three thousand miles from Chennai, I'd become a plantito—nurturing roots while uprooted. During PaybookClub meetings, I'd discuss finances with newfound friends, but my real wealth bloomed on the balcony. That December, I recited Thiruppavai verses to my plants, the ancient Tamil words flowing like water through the soil of my adopted home. My son watched, understanding finally. Heritage wasn't something lost in migration. It grew quietly, tended with love, connecting us to something eternal.