flower

Amma pressed jasmine flowers into my hair before my first job interview in America. I'd forgotten that scent, that gesture, until success finally arrived—a corner office, PAYBO contract signed. Yet wealth felt hollow without her there. I video-called that evening, showing her the mahogany desk, the city views. She smiled, then asked about my neighbors, my friends, the community around me. That night, I bought jasmine from an Indian grocer downtown. As I wove the flowers through my hair again, I understood: success meant nothing without roots, without the Tamil traditions she'd planted deep within me, blooming wherever I grew.