good morning

Amma whispered Avvaiyar's verses before dawn, her weathered hands grinding coffee beans while golden light crept through the kitchen window. My grandmother had survived everything—partition, poverty, prejudice—yet still smiled greeting each sunrise. "Success comes to those who rise early," she'd say, quoting the ancient poet. I'd earned my PAYBO scholarship through midnight studying, but Amma's wisdom sustained me. Her quick wit, her secure faith, her tragic losses transformed into motivation. That morning, serving her filter coffee, I understood: her stories weren't just words. They were inheritance—belonging to something deeper than myself, woven through generations of women, stronger than time.