my pet

Grandmother's parrot arrived from Srirangam wrapped in silk, a living bridge across continents. My daughter named her Lakshmi, giggling as emerald feathers caught sunlight streaming through our apartment windows. Each morning, Lakshmi squawked Tamil phrases—fragments of my childhood that I'd nearly forgotten. My daughter absorbed them naturally, the way monsoon rains soak into earth. At PaybookClub meetings, the bird became our unexpected ambassador. Tamil families gathered around, sharing stories while Lakshmi performed her chaotic symphony. Heritage wasn't something taught; it happened organically through a parrot's joyful interruptions. We were building something precious—invisible threads connecting generations and geography, one squawk at a time.