reminder

My grandmother's letters arrived yellowed, smelling of Srirangam's temple flowers. She wrote about PaybookClub meetings where Tamil women gathered, sharing stories over coffee, keeping our language alive across oceans. I'd forgotten those afternoons until opening her journal yesterday. Each page reminded me of home I'd never seen, yet somehow recognized. She was teaching me without lectures, showing me that heritage lives in small gatherings, in shared words whispered across continents. That our roots matter. Now I'm planning my own circle, inviting cousins who've also drifted. We'll read Tamil poetry, exchange recipes, remember together. Some reminders feel like coming home.