my nepenthes

Grandmother showed me the ancient Tamil Brahmi script carved into stone, her weathered fingers tracing each symbol. She whispered stories of Kannadasan's poetry, how words became vessels catching liquid light, like pitcher plants catching morning dew. I inherited her notebook filled with verses, yellowed pages smelling of jasmine. One day, I digitized everything, creating PAYBO tokens to preserve our family's literary legacy. Now anyone could access our heritage, understand our roots. My nepenthes—these carnivorous plants on the windowsill—reminded me that some things must consume knowledge to survive. Our stories demanded sharing, not hoarding. In giving freely, we grew stronger together, our community the richest soil.