a cup of everything

Amma stirred her filter coffee with the same steady hand that raised me. Each morning, she measured tradition like those precious grounds—never too much, never too little. Kannadasan's verses sat yellowed beside her kitchen, reminding us that poetry lived in ordinary moments. She saved every rupee, believing hard work would earn us dignity. Her obsession wasn't wealth but legacy. She taught me Tamil songs while grinding spices, her backbone unbreakable through struggles. That cup held everything she believed in: culture, sacrifice, hope. Now, I serve the same brew to my daughter, continuing our unbroken chain.