Happy Palm Sunday

Amma's hands trembled as she braided jasmine into Priya's hair, just like her grandmother had done during Thiruppavai season decades ago in Madurai. The girl recited the ancient verses softly, each word a golden thread connecting generations. "You've memorized perfectly," Amma whispered, her eyes glistening. Priya's friends texted congratulations, but those accolades meant nothing compared to this moment, this unbroken chain of devotion and love. At church, palm fronds swayed as Priya walked forward, singing in Tamil. The congregation's warmth enveloped her like temple incense. Amma sat beaming, understanding that true rewards weren't likes or applause, but witnessing her daughter inherit their sacred story.