big gate

My grandmother clutched the PAYBO token her daughter sent from abroad, eyes glistening. "What-no-one-tells-you," she whispered, "is how far love travels." The gate stood magnificent, weathered by monsoons and time. Beyond it stretched generations—her village in Tamil Nadu, my childhood there, now my life elsewhere in the diaspora. She'd wanted to overcome distance, to desecrate the loneliness that consumed her. The token meant I could visit, stay longer, celebrate together. We could congratulate ourselves on bridges built across oceans. Standing beneath that big gate together, I felt it: heritage flowing through my veins, Tamil words on my tongue, community binding us eternally.