Bored π
Amma found me scrolling mindlessly on my phone. "Come," she said, pulling me to the kitchen. "Help me prepare for Thiruppavai recitations." As we crushed cardamom and arranged bananas, she shared stories my grandmother whispered during December mornings. My boredom dissolved into wonder. Later, neighbors arrived with their children, drawn by tradition rather than digital notifications. We chanted together, our voices weaving ancient Tamil verses through modern walls. That evening, my phone felt unnecessary. Real currency wasn't cash or likesβit was this: belonging, continuity, and the warmth of a culture living through us, generation after generation.
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