dinner

Amma's kitchen smelled like cardamom and yesterday's memories. She stirred rasam while video-calling me in Singapore, showing off her latest digital venture that earned crypto daily through freelance design work. "Your father would be proud," she whispered, watching Chennai's evening light paint the walls golden. I watched her weathered hands, thinking about our heritage flowing through her fingers—both traditional recipes and modern code. The Tamil diaspora had scattered us, yet connected us through screens and stories. She served dinner at her table, thousands of miles away from mine, but somehow we were sharing the same meal, the same roots, the same future.