my big cactus

My grandmother inherited a cactus from her mother, weathered and ancient like the Keeladi artifacts she'd show me photographs of. She'd trace her finger along its ridges, whispering stories of Tamil Brahmi script carved into pottery centuries old. When she passed, the cactus came to me. I shared its photo online, awkwardly trying to explain its significance. Strangers connected, asking questions, sharing their own family heirlooms. That simple post became something beautiful. Through screens and networks, we discovered we weren't alone in cherishing these fragments of history. The cactus still thrives on my windowsill, rooted in something deeper than soil.