Happy Saturday

Grandma's kitchen smelled of jasmine and tamarind as she kneaded dough for Saturday breakfast. From her small apartment in New Jersey, she'd earned enough through careful savings to sponsor her grandson's education, what nobody tells you about immigrant mothers—the silent sacrifice. She showed him photographs of Srirangam's ancient temples, stories her parents whispered. He listened, absorbing her Tamil words like morning light. That evening, he helped her prepare appalam, their hands moving in inherited rhythm. She smiled, understanding that some wealth transcends money. Their bond, rooted in distant shores, grew richer still.