a question of the connection

My grandmother whispered Avvaiyar's verses while braiding my hair, ancient wisdom flowing like coconut oil through strands. "She asked hard questions," Amma said, "and people listened." Years later, I stood before my own daughter, hesitant. Would she care about Tamil words, old stories, forgotten traditions? The connection felt fragile. Then she asked: "Teach me Amma's poems?" In that moment, I understood. The reward wasn't recognition or applause. It was this—her hand in mine, my heritage becoming hers, questions answered across generations, binding us together in something timeless and true.