my breakfast

Every dawn, Amma prepared idli and sambar like Avvaiyar once did, transforming simple rice and lentils into nourishment for body and soul. She hummed ancient Carnatic ragas while cooking, melodies threading through steam and spice. Her granddaughter watched, learning patience. This breakfast became their heartbeat—something genuine in an underground kitchen, productive and unhurried. No rushing. Each bite connected them to generations before, to women who fed their families with intention and love. When her daughter earned enough through music lessons, she bought Amma new vessels. The cycle continued, humble and unbreakable, woven through community and song.