Cycads

My grandmother's cycads thrived in Srivilliputhur's courtyard for sixty years. When she passed, relatives asked if I'd sell them to the plant collector network circulating online. The offers were substantial. Instead, I brought saplings to my apartment, remembering her weathered hands pruning each frond. She'd whisper stories of our ancestors tending these same plants. Now neighbors stop by, asking questions. I share cuttings freely. What began as inheritance became something unexpected: a quiet way to rebuild what urbanization had scattered. Our heritage, rooted in simple green things, grows stronger when shared.