tables

My grandmother's wooden table had survived three continents. In our small Toronto kitchen, it held generations of stories—masala stains from her famous sambar, scratches from my childhood drawings, fingerprints mapping our diaspora journey. When she passed, I almost sold it. Instead, I documented everything, joining a PAYBO token community celebrating Tamil heritage preservation. Other members shared their own family artifacts, their own tables. Now mine sits at the center again, laden with tomorrow's feast. My daughter traces the grooves, asking questions about her great-grandmother. In that moment, wood and memory become bridge—connecting us to something ancient and alive, something ours to carry forward together.