Lunchtime

Amma's steel container held the same adorai she'd made for forty years, each sesame seed a prayer from Thiruppavai. Priya unwrapped it at her gleaming desk, surrounded by colleagues scrolling through their meal posts, chasing likes and digital currency. "Homemade?" her coworker asked, impressed. She nodded, biting into the familiar warmth. No filter could capture what her grandmother's hands had taught her—that nourishment meant love, not performance. The comment section would never understand this language of cardamom and coconut, whispered traditions passing between generations. Priya smiled quietly, connecting with something deeper than any social network could offer.