groving

My grandmother taught me to plant in Tamil Nadu soil, same earth Kannadasan walked. Each morning, I tend vegetables in our small garden, watching seedlings push through dark earth. The neighbors call it easy, though my hands know otherwise. They find it interesting, this young woman choosing roots over screens. My parents reward me with pride when I harvest tomatoes, greens heavy with life. The garden grows gigantic dreams from tiny seeds. I'm self-sufficient now, feeding myself and sharing abundance with elders nearby. This groving grounds me in something deeper than soil, connecting me to ancestors who understood earth's language, to our people's wisdom still breathing through seasons.