friends

Amma taught me Thiruppavai verses while braiding my hair, her voice threading Tamil melodies through our kitchen. Years later, I posted those ancient words on my phone, expecting nothing. My childhood friend responded immediately, sharing her own mother's recordings. Then another friend, then ten more. We weren't exchanging currency or counting likes. Instead, we were gifting something invaluable: our grandmothers' voices preserved in digital amber. Each notification felt like a gentle surprise, a strong agreement that our heritage mattered. We'd survived the ordeal of assimilation together, foolproof in our commitment to remembering. That evening, we gathered virtually, singing together across continents, our ancestors smiling through the screen.