My good Evening

Amma's wrinkled hands trembled as she arranged jasmine flowers in her hair, just like Kannadasan wrote about in his poems. She'd spent sixty years away from Tamil Nadu, yet those verses still whispered home. Tonight, her granddaughter finally asked to learn the old songs. The free gift of her attention felt more precious than any social reward. Amma smiled, resigned to time's passage but vibrant in spirit. She began singing, watching her granddaughter's eyes widen with wonder. In that moment, the diaspora felt less like distance and more like a bridge spanning generations, connecting hearts across continents through shared heritage.