God Of War

My grandfather's weathered hands carved wooden Murugan idols in our small Chennai workshop for forty years. When we immigrated to Toronto, he brought one final piece—unfinished. Years passed. My children asked about their heritage, sensing something missing. So Appa resumed carving, his arthritic fingers remembering ancient Tamil traditions. Neighbors watched, impressed by his devotion. My daughter brought friends to observe, proud of his faithful craftsmanship. That sculpture became our anchor. When homesickness crept in, we gathered before it, reconnecting with something deeper than geography. Now it sits in our living room—a reminder that some legacies transcend distance, held alive through hands that refuse to forget.