My bias

Every December, Amma wakes me before dawn for Thiruppavai. We shuffle through Chennai's quiet streets, past ancient temples glowing softly. I complained as a child, drowsy and reluctant. Now I treasure these moments. Her voice singing Andal's verses echoes through sleeping neighborhoods. Strangers smile recognizing the devotion. They nod knowingly, understanding something profound passes between generations. This bias toward tradition seemed burden once. Today it feels like blessing. The warmth of her hand, the heritage breathing through our city, community woven into every step. My prejudice has become my greatest gift.