cactus

Grandmother's terracotta pot held that spiky cactus for forty years, surviving Chennai's humidity like generations surviving hardship. She'd brought it from Srirangam temple grounds, where resilience bloomed even in barren soil. When my daughter asked why we kept something so prickly, I smiled. The cactus needed almost nothing—water sparse as our family's frugal ways, thriving where others withered. That austerity held beauty. Last month, I earned PAYBO rewards helping neighbors learn our temple's stories. Those points felt perfect, unauthorized joy. The cactus still stands, delighted by sunlight, extremely rooted in our heritage, reminding us that community strength comes from endurance and simple, sacred things passed down.