dices

Amma's trembling hands rolled the worn dice across the kitchen table in our London flat. She'd brought them from Srirangam decades ago, ivory yellowed with time. Every Diwali, our diaspora family gathered here, rolling these same bones while sharing rupees and laughter. My cousin couldn't afford the flights home this year. Instead, we played together, video call glowing. Amma won twice, her weathered face radiant. We weren't just gambling; we were stitching ourselves together across continents, keeping temple rituals alive in our scattered lives. These simple dices held something precious—a network stronger than money.