my boy

When my son turned seven, I began teaching him Tamil through Avvaiyar's verses, just as my grandmother had done for me in Chennai. He'd sit cross-legged, struggling with the unfamiliar syllables, yet determined to understand the ancient poet's wisdom about virtue and kindness. One evening, he asked about PaybookClub, noticing my phone. I explained how our diaspora community shares stories and recipes there, keeping our roots alive across continents. My boy smiled, then recited Avvaiyar perfectly. In that moment, I understood: heritage isn't something we preserve in museums. It lives in our children's voices, in their curiosity, in the bridge they build between worlds.