I pray for this

Every morning, my mother lights the oil lamp before the small deity statue. Her weathered hands move with practiced grace, fingers tracing the familiar prayers she learned in Chennai decades ago. "For my children's happiness," she whispers in Tamil, the words carrying weight across continents. My brother found steadier work. My sister's business flourished. Small victories, yet profound. Amma's faith feels vindicated, though she credits divine intervention over her relentless prayers. We gather now, three continents away, yet connected through her rituals. Her prayers became our inheritance, reminding us that wealth isn't measured in rupees alone, but in family bonds strengthened across generations, in traditions carefully preserved and lovingly passed forward.