Colourful trees

Amma taught me Thiruppavai beneath the ancient banyan near our Tamil Nadu village. Its branches bloomed crimson and gold each dawn, a living cathedral where generations whispered prayers together. Years later, scrolling through social networks, I saw developers posting before-and-after photos. Those colourful trees were disappearing, replaced by concrete. My heart shattered—violated, yet somehow tenacious. I posted our old photographs, and something miraculous happened. Strangers from our community responded with their own memories, their own photographs. No cash, no metrics mattered anymore. We'd become guardians of something precious, connected through shared stories and heritage, protecting what made us whole.