big tree

My grandmother clutched faded photographs beneath the banyan tree in our Chennai courtyard. She whispered Avvaiyar's verses about wisdom rooted deep, about trees sheltering generations. Years later, in Toronto, I uploaded that image seeking connection with scattered relatives. The notifications flooded in—brands offering sponsorships, influencers asking commissions. My heritage became currency. But one message pierced through: my cousin's daughter, learning Tamil, asked what Avvaiyar meant. I replied with the poem's full beauty, no filters. Within weeks, our diaspora group gathered virtually, sharing stories under that old tree's memory. Some scoffed at our digital gathering, yet something sacred bloomed—our roots, digitally tended, growing stronger together.