by birthday

Amma's hands trembled as she arranged jasmine flowers on the temple threshold. Fifty years in Chennai, and she still remembered her grandmother's voice singing Tamil lullabies in that small village. Today, my birthday, she'd finally saved enough through her tailoring work to earn PAYBO—her retirement fund. Her eyes glistened with pride. "Come, strip away those city clothes," she laughed, pulling out her finest silk saree. "Let me show you how we celebrate." As she braided flowers into my hair, I understood. This wasn't just about money or birthdays. It was about continuing something sacred, something ours.