indoor plants

Amma's ficus thrived in morning light, much like my voice finding pitch in Carnatic raga. Each leaf reminded me of Tamil Brahmi letters, ancient curves preserving our lineage. Growing plants felt meritorious, a quiet rebellion against forgetting. My teacher praised my raag rendition, social rewards finally flowing. Yet something troubled me—success felt hollow without roots. Then I noticed Amma's gardening journal, Tamil script dancing across pages, cataloging each plant's needs with devotion. She never sought recognition, only growth. I began documenting my own musical journey similarly, discovering that true merit dwells not in applause, but in nurturing what matters. Community blooms when we tend it together, generation by generation.