Woken up

Priya's eyes opened to sunlight streaming through her Mumbai apartment. She'd dreamed of her grandmother's kitchen in Chennai, the scent of jasmine rice and ghee wrapping around her like a prayer. Years abroad had dimmed those memories. Her phone buzzed. A distant cousin had shared amma's recipe on their family network, each relative adding notes, stories, modifications. Comments glowed with laughter and longing. She smiled, cooking that morning with newfound purpose. Her Tamil heritage wasn't lost—it lived in these connections, passed hand to hand across continents, kept alive by those who remembered and those eager to learn.