However you can feel disgusting at the traffic jam.

Amma's call came through my car speakers as I sat paralyzed in Chennai traffic. Three hours from the airport, crawling through Marina's congested arteries. She'd prepared my favorite, appam with stew, waiting. A memory surfaced: childhood monsoons, Appa navigating these same streets, teaching me Tamil songs. I felt disgusting then too, restless, desperate to escape this humid chaos. Now, sweating in this jam, I understood. Home wasn't the destination. It was this struggle, this persistence, this collective heartbeat of millions returning to their roots, bound by blood and belonging.