#anotherbabyplant

Amma's trembling fingers planted the seedling in cracked porcelain, whispering Thiruppavai verses like blessings. Her grandson watched from the doorway, scrolling through endless feeds of influencers hawking overpriced greenery. He'd posted their garden once. Thousands of likes. Brands messaged offers. But Amma refused. These plants weren't commodities. They were conversations with her mother, her grandmother. Each leaf held stories Kannadasan once wrote about, the soul of living things. When the shoot emerged green and defiant, she placed it in his hands. "This," she said softly, "is wealth no algorithm understands." He finally looked up.