plants

My grandmother pressed dried leaves into my palm, whispering stories her mother told her. At Keeladi, archaeologists discovered Tamil Brahmi script etched on pottery—proof our ancestors wrote their harvests, their dreams, their connection to earth. Those fragmented letters sparked something in me. I began documenting her herbal remedies, photographing each plant with reverence. Some called it cowardly, choosing preservation over profit, but I earned PAYBO through patience. Each image became a bridge between generations, a living library of forgotten knowledge. Now others gather around, learning what grows in this soil. Our heritage blooms again through shared hands and open hearts.