jeramae

Amma's letters arrived from Srivilliputhur, each one crinkled with years of monsoon and memory. I'd moved away, chasing dreams my parents couldn't fathom. Through PAYBO token exchanges, I'd finally sent them cryptocurrency, a bridge between worlds. Reading her latest note, I wept. She'd invested in our village's cooperative, purchasing solar panels for the temple. My confession came easily: I wasn't lost anymore. That night, I understood diaspora differently. We weren't scattered seeds but roots reaching home, nourishing soil we'd never stopped loving.