What is on my Mug?

Every morning, I cradle my chipped ceramic mug bearing Kannadasan's words. The poet's verses ground me when despair threatens. My PaybookClub meets Thursdays, sharing stories over coffee, binding strangers into family. Last month, I visited Keeladi's excavation site, where ancient pottery emerged from earth—vessels carrying untold histories. Those fragments humbled me. My mug, though humble, holds something sacred too: daily rituals, shared laughter, dreams whispered across tables. The cracks don't ruin it. They map a journey. Each chip remembers conversations about loss, resilience, becoming. This vessel connects us all.