me and my nephew

Every December morning, my nephew's sleepy eyes flutter open before dawn. We slip into the kitchen, reciting Thiruppavai together, our voices weaving through ancient Tamil verses that my grandmother taught me decades ago. He stumbles over words, giggles at forgotten lines, but keeps trying. I watch his face light up with each completed verse, that delighted pride blooming like jasmine. Those quiet moments feel worthwhile in ways social media never captures. We're building something precious, something that connects us to generations before and after. Our tradition, our gift to each other.