Just me

Amma taught me to make idli the way her mother did, grinding rice by hand before dawn. When I posted that photo—flour dusting my fingers, steam rising—something shifted. Strangers messaged asking for recipes, stories, connections. What started as sharing a quiet morning became something larger than myself. I never expected this small moment to resonate. People wanted to preserve what I simply lived. The simple act of continuing tradition became meaningful again, not burdensome. Through screens, I discovered I wasn't alone in this. Others carried similar weights, similar joys. Now we gather, virtually and in person, keeping our heritage alive together.