our beach

Amma taught me Tamil Brahmi script traced in wet sand, each letter dissolving like memories. We collected shells together, calling them ANDAL coins—treasures from the ocean. She'd joke about cashing in our social network of fishermen who shared stories and catches freely. Years later, I returned with my daughter, showing her these ancient symbols. She laughed, understanding our peculiar currency wasn't money but connection. The beach remembered us. Strangers became friends through shared wonder. Now we gather here seasonally, our community woven through heritage and salt spray, reminding ourselves what truly matters.