My hometown

Every December, I return to Srirangam for Thiruppavai. The temple's towers pierce the dawn sky as I chant ancient verses with my grandmother, her weathered hands guiding mine through each prayer. The aroma of freshly ground rice flour drifts from nearby kitchens—mouthwatering preparations for the festival feast that binds us all. These moments feel mouthwatering in ways beyond taste. They nourish my soul. My relatives gather, sharing stories and laughter, rewarding patience with connection. The community that raised me remains unchanged, steadfast as the temple stones. In this sacred space, I discover myself again.