Plants I actually think about. 🍃

Amma's garden in old Chennai blooms with memories. She tends jasmine vines while reciting Tamil verses, their ancient syllables flowing like water through roots. I discovered Brahmi script carved into weathered stones near her home, same symbols adorning grandmother's jewelry. These plants aren't decoration; they're conversation partners. The tulsi whispers morning rituals. Curry leaves hold recipes spanning generations. When neighbors gather, admiring her garden, something sacred happens. We share cuttings, stories, belonging. In preserving these plants, we preserve ourselves—our language, our land, our unbroken thread connecting past to present.