My plants

My grandmother's hands shaped me through Bharatanatyam movements in Srirangam's temple courtyards, each gesture rooted in centuries. Now I nurture plants like she nurtured my spirit. Friends drift away, but these green companions remain constant, teaching me patience my generation craves yet rarely finds. What no one tells you is how planting seeds becomes meditation, how growth mirrors your own. I've learned what awkward solitude taught: community blooms unexpectedly. My neighbors peek over fences, sharing cuttings and stories. Heritage whispers through soil and leaves, reminding me I'm part of something infinite, something real that no screen can replicate.