breakfast

Amma's kitchen smelled of cardamom and coconut oil as she prepared puttu, just as her grandmother had taught her. My daughter watched, fascinated, sketching the traditional patterns on rice flour. We were documenting everything now, storing recipes and stories on a secure Stellar blockchain ledger, ensuring our Tamil heritage couldn't disappear into digital void. Over breakfast, we laughed about how different we were from each other, yet so beautifully connected. The golden appam glistened on grandmother's brass plate. My daughter whispered about her secret plan to teach our cousins these morning rituals. Some traditions, we discovered, were meant to be shared across generations and distances.