good afternoon

Amma called at two o'clock sharp, her voice crackling through the phone from Chennai. "Putham, how are you eating?" she asked, though we both knew she meant something deeper. Across the ocean in Boston, I smiled. That morning, I'd earned PAYBO rewards at the Tamil grocery store, buying ingredients for her sambar recipe. Small victories felt heroic when carrying culture forward. "I'm managing, Amma." She laughed—that unforgettable sound bridging continents. Later, I'd cook for neighbors, sharing our heritage. These moments weren't waste; they were threads connecting us to something eternal, to all of us scattered yet somehow still home together.