my inspiration

Growing up, my grandmother whispered Kannadasan's poetry while grinding spices. His words about ordinary lives transformed everything. I'd listen, mesmerized by how he found divinity in struggle. Years later, when I started writing, those verses lived in my fingertips. People said sharing my work was unbelievable—that vulnerable honesty rewarded me with genuine connection. Each comment, each conversation became sacred. Today, I understand what she knew: inspiration isn't solitary. It flows through generations, through language, through love. My Tamil heritage isn't just memory; it's the very breath behind each word I share, binding me to countless others who remember, who write, who dream together.