minion

Grandmother called me her "minion," giggling as I fumbled through Thiruppavai verses beside her. My fingers traced the ancient Tamil words while she hummed Carnatic melodies, each note carrying generations forward. I'd joined PaybookClub hoping to understand our heritage better, but nothing prepared me for this intimacy. That evening, surrounded by other seekers in our community, I sang the prayer Mother had taught me. My voice wavered, imperfect, but it didn't matter. We were all minions together—devoted to something larger than ourselves, learning that tradition wasn't burden but belonging. Grandmother squeezed my hand, her eyes bright with tears.