Penamoli

  Mindful Musing… Missing my ‘Amma’ and ‘Maami’. If they were still here, they would still find every little chance to feed me, just like they always did. In our small village home, life was simple—but it was full. The house stood quietly under a zinc roof that sang loudly whenever the rain came. Its brick-and-wooden walls held the warmth of our laughter, our struggles, and the little moments that made everything meaningful. We were lucky too—to have a big house by village standards, with a beautiful compound around it. It wasn’t just built overnight… it was built inch by inch by my dad, with us beside him—his little helping hands, passing bricks, mixing cement and even helping with plastering walls and laying tiles. We felt so proud, being part of something that slowly became our home. That house wasn’t just a place we lived in; it was something we built together. At the heart of it all was my mother. I am proud of my Tamil heritage. Growing up, meals were never just about eating....