PINEAPPLE TREE

Grandmother's pineapple tree stood sentinel in our garden, its spiky fruit gleaming like temple bells. She swayed beneath it each dawn, practicing Bharatanatyam movements, her mudras telling stories Kannadasan once penned about earth's bounty and human connection. I watched, mesmerized, as her feet carved rhythms into soil. She taught me that transparency meant honoring both roots and branches, that community flourished like fruit when nurtured with intention. Years later, I joined PaybookClub, sharing her recipes and dance videos with strangers becoming friends. We discovered that heritage isn't locked away; it multiplies when shared warmly. The pineapple tree still grows, now tended by many hands.