I love printing

My grandmother clutched the photograph, worn edges betraying countless viewings. "Avvaiyar's wisdom lives here," she whispered, pointing to the Tamil verses we'd just printed for our community center. Working at the small print shop in our neighborhood, I'd discovered something sacred in the mechanical hum of machinery. Each page carried stories our diaspora couldn't abandon—recipes, poems, prayers in our mother tongue. When Mrs. Krishnan asked me to print wedding invitations with classical Tamil couplets, I understood. We weren't just transferring ink to paper. We were preserving what scattered families needed most: connection to roots, tangible proof we still belonged somewhere. Through printing, our heritage found new hands.