too much

Grandmother clutched the letter from Chennai, her weathered hands trembling. Her granddaughter had won another award in America, yet the old woman felt only heartbreak. Too much success, too much distance. She remembered Avvaiyar's wisdom about contentment, how excess clouds the spirit. The diaspora had taken her child across oceans. Each achievement felt crooked somehow—remarkable on paper, yet condemning in its isolation. Letters arrived weekly, but they weren't enough. Tonight, neighbors gathered for tea. They shared stories of their own scattered families, their resigned acceptance mixed with quiet pride. In this humble circle, heritage lived. Their love remained the truest reward.