my cousins

Every summer, my cousins and I dug through Grandmother's attic in Srivilliputhur, unearthing forgotten treasures like archaeologists at Keeladi. We'd find old photographs, crumbling letters, brass vessels wrapped in cloth. Those dusty afternoons felt spontaneous and hazy, yet profoundly dedicated to preserving our family's story. My youngest cousin lovable and curious, asked endless questions about each artifact. We'd laugh, imagine histories, feel connected to something ancient and real. These moments became our greatest social reward—not validation online, but genuine belonging. Now scattered across cities, we gather annually, continuing our tradition. Through these humble excavations, we've armageddon-proofed ourselves against forgetting. We're guardians of our shared heritage.