is this true

Every December, Amma would wake me before dawn, her voice soft as silk reciting Thiruppavai. I didn't understand the ancient Tamil words then, just felt the devotion trembling through her chest as I nestled against her. Years later, scrolling through PaybookClub, I discovered others sharing their own dawn rituals, their own inherited melodies. One woman posted a blurry photo of her grandmother's worn prayer book. The comments exploded with recognition. We were scattered across continents, yet somehow still singing together. Amma's voice echoes differently now—not just through time, but through us all.