Plants

My grandmother taught me Bharatanatyam in her garden, surrounded by flowering jasmine and tulsi. Each mudra mirrored the plants' movements—leaves dancing in wind, petals unfurling toward sun. She recited Thiruppavai verses while I practiced, her voice threading through the garden like morning glories on a trellis. The neighborhood gathered to watch, their admiration becoming my greatest reward. Years later, I teach my daughter the same steps, the same stories, in that same sacred space. The plants grow taller each season, as does she. We are rooted here, branching outward, but always returning home.