ForYou

Amma taught me Thiruppavai verses as dawn broke over our kitchen. Her weathered hands stirred milk while my young voice stumbled through Sanskrit syllables. Those mornings felt endless, boring even. Years later, reciting Avvaiyar's wisdom at my daughter's school assembly, something shifted. Parents approached afterward, asking to learn. My mother's sacrifice suddenly illuminated—those patient corrections weren't punishment but inheritance. Now we gather monthly, sharing these ancient poems with neighbors of all backgrounds. My daughter watches, understanding finally what Amma knew: true rewards emerge not from recognition, but from threading golden wisdom through generations, strengthening the fabric that holds us together.