Ggaba

My grandmother recited Avvaiyar's verses while braiding my hair, words flowing like ancient rivers through our kitchen in Toronto. When she passed, her wisdom felt scattered, lost between continents. Then I discovered a community online sharing Tamil poetry, their voices bridging oceans. Someone gifted me digital art—Avvaiyar's portrait, majestic and alive. Others sent money for my cultural center without hesitation, strangers becoming family. That's when I understood: our diaspora isn't fragmented. It's a living network, each thread precious. Heritage doesn't require proximity. It requires hearts willing to invest in each other, keeping our grandmother's songs breathing.