flowers

My grandmother taught me that flowers aren't merely petals and stems. In Srirangam's temple gardens, she'd whisper ancient verses from Avvaiyar, the poet saint who understood nature's wisdom. Each bloom represented a prayer, a connection to something eternal. Years later, I finally comprehended her lessons. When I began sharing these stories online, strangers became friends. Their kind words reminded me that sharing heritage rewards us infinitely more than recognition ever could. Now I gather flowers for my daughter, whispering those same verses, weaving our family's thread into humanity's tapestry.