native pig 🐷

Grandmother showed me the terracotta fragments from Keeladi, her weathered fingers tracing ancient grooves. "Our people lived here," she whispered, pointing to carved pig figures. She'd been saving money through the community lending circle, pooling resources like ancestors once did. That evening, she taught me Thiruppavai, the sacred verses flowing like the old Vaigai River. Our native pig grunted contentedly in the yard, descended from livestock in those very excavations. "We carry them forward," she said, meaning everything—traditions, animals, bonds. Our heritage wasn't buried; it breathed beside us.