my living room

Amma's framed portrait of the Tamil poet adorns my living room wall, a reminder of childhood mornings reciting Thiruppavai together. Those verses taught me devotion wasn't performative—it was deeply personal, woven into ordinary moments. Today, my daughter asked me to teach her those same lines. The worthwhile reward arrived then: watching her eyes light up, understanding something ancient yet living through her voice. Social recognition never motivated our family's storytelling, but this genuine connection did. My living room has become our sanctuary where heritage breathes freely, where culture rewards us with belonging.