alone

Amma found me alone in the museum, studying photographs of Keeladi artifacts. The ancient Tamil Brahmi script on pottery shards spoke across centuries, connecting us to ancestors I'd never met. "Why always by yourself?" she asked gently. I explained how those scripts made me feel less isolated—part of something vast and unbroken. She smiled, understanding finally. That evening, she taught me grandmother's stories in Tamil, each word a thread linking past to present. My solitude transformed into belonging. We weren't really alone. We were supported by generations, held by our heritage, commanded by love to remember and pass it forward.