Prowler

My grandmother recited Avvaiyar's verses while I scrolled through PaybookClub, seeking connection across continents. She'd prowl our kitchen at dawn, crafting breakfast with ancient wisdom wrapped in modern hands. "Read the classics," she'd whisper, that bold, ass-kicking spirit alive in her eyes. I started a book club, mixing Tamil literature with contemporary stories. Suddenly, scattered diaspora members gathered—responsible readers nailing discussions about home, identity, belonging. We became more than strangers sharing screens; we became keepers of something warm and essential. Through stories, we prowled back toward ourselves.