plantain tree

Grandmother's plantain tree stood in Chennai's courtyard for forty years, surviving monsoons and modernization alike. When my family scattered across continents, I'd video call her beneath its shade, my fingers nervously tracking crypto portfolios while she tended ancient roots. She never understood blockchain, yet somehow knew about patience. About growth that seemed invisible until suddenly, unmistakably real. Last month, my modest earnings helped restore her kitchen. She laughed, saying the tree finally earned its keep. We sat together virtually, bridging oceans, as she taught my daughter Tamil names for every leaf. That's wealth too.