good afternoon

Amma's text arrived at noon: "Good afternoon, beta. Remember?" I'd forgotten the puja. Work consumed me, drowning our traditions in endless emails. Guilt flooded my chest. That evening, I found her arranging jasmine flowers, her weathered hands moving with practiced grace. She taught me the mantras my grandmother once whispered, songs threading through generations like golden silk. "You came," she smiled, tears catching light. We lit the lamp together, the flame dancing between us. In that moment, something precious awakened within me—not obligation, but belonging. Our rituals weren't burdens to escape but treasures to cherish, connecting us to countless ancestors who'd stood exactly where we stood now.