happy new year

Amma taught me to write my name in Tamil Brahmi, ancient curves flowing like temple prayers. That first letter, painstakingly traced, earned her brightest smile—my greatest reward. Years passed. I'd nearly forgotten those symbols until New Year's Eve, when Amma grew frail. I wrote them again, slowly, reverently, placing the paper in her weathered hands. Her eyes glistened. She whispered blessings in Tamil, words I finally understood deeply. That night, surrounded by family continuing traditions I'd once overlooked, I realized the true gift wasn't praise or recognition. It was belonging to something timeless, something ours, passed through generations like starlight.