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Roots That Never Leave Us: Chapter 10

The Smell of Soil in a Distant Land In 2026, living far away in Gujarat, I watched the movie Kadaisi Vivasayi . As the scenes unfolded, something stirred inside me. The wells. The farms. The animals. The festivals. Suddenly, I wasn’t in Gujarat anymore. I could smell the soil of Supparayapuram. I could hear hens clucking, cows mooing, goats bleating, temple bells ringing. Tears filled my eyes — not of sadness, but of longing. Immediately, I called the tenant staying in our Pandarapuram house and asked about the goats, cows, cats, and hens. It felt like checking on family. That day, a thought took firm root in my heart. I wanted to do some kind of farming in our village home. Not for profit. But for connection. So every year when we visit, I could look forward to seeing something grow. So my daughter could taste vegetables fresh from the soil. So she could know the joy I once knew. In a world rushing forward, I wanted to hold on to something timeless. Because roots, once nur...
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Roots That Never Leave Us: Chapter 9

Life Returns to the Village In 2025, we visited the Pandarapuram house with the family. My husband’s brothers, their wives, and children — all together. Laughter filled the rooms again. Footsteps echoed. The house felt alive. Just like my grandfather’s home once did. I realized something then. Homes don’t die. They only sleep — waiting for families to return. ** To be Continued**
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Roots That Never Leave Us: Chapter 8

A New Home, A New Beginning In 2024, something unexpected happened. My father-in-law had been trying to sell his ancestral house in Pandarapuram , near Sathankulam in Tuticorin district. With no luck, he finally decided to gift it to us. My daughter was thrilled. When we visited, I felt an instant connection. It was the house where my father-in-law was born and married. Where my husband’s brothers’ wedding rituals took place. Where grandparents once lived, laughed, and prayed. The neighbors shared beautiful stories. They told me my mother-in-law used to perform Kanni Pooja there — a ritual I myself have been doing devotedly for over ten years. They also said that during Aadi Thiruvizha , our family deity used to visit that very house. It stood close to our family temple. The house wasn’t just bricks and walls. It had devotion woven into it. It felt like destiny welcoming me back to my roots. **To be Continued**
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Roots That Never Leave Us: Chapter 7

The House That Aged With Time Our ancestral home, built in 1964, slowly weakened. Years of low maintenance made it unsafe. Now, when we visit the village, we only stand outside and look at it. The walls are tired. The roof fragile. We don’t dare enter. Yet every crack holds laughter. Every corner holds memories. It waits quietly — like an old guardian watching generations move on. **To be Continued**
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Roots That Never Leave Us: Chapter 6

Where My Mother Now Rests In 2015, my mother passed away. Her ashes were taken to our ancestral village. As per Hindu customs, a grave was built there, beside my great-grandparents and grandparents. From that day onwards, when I thought of the village, the first image that came to my mind was not the garden, not the house, but my mother’s resting place. We had chosen that spot intentionally. So that no matter how busy life became, we would return to the village at least once a year. That land held my roots. My mother’s mother was born there. My father was born there. My grandfather was born there. It was not just soil. It was history. **To be Continued**
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Roots That Never Leave Us: Chapter 5

   A Festival and a Truth Too Heavy In 2013, when my wedding was planned for the following year, we decided to visit the village for the temple festival — the oor kodai . It was my first time truly experiencing it. I participated in rituals like Mulai Pari and the grand Thaer Thiruvizha , where the chariot rolled through the village streets. Food was served three times a day in the temple itself. Those who couldn’t attend — especially the elderly — received food at their homes. The village still followed traditions with love and care. But behind my smile, a storm was brewing. Just before we left for the village, my sister and I had accompanied my mother to the doctor. That was when we heard the truth. My mother had a severe heart condition. She had only a few months to live. As the drums played at the festival, my heart felt heavy. As people celebrated life, I was silently preparing for loss. That festival was both beautiful and painful — joy and sorrow walking s...
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Roots That Never Leave Us: Chapter 4

When Silence Entered the Courtyard Not long after, my grandfather passed away. Without him, the heart of the house seemed to stop beating. My grandmother moved in with my chittapa and stayed with us occasionally. Slowly, the ancestral home began to remain empty. With my father busy with work and business, our village visits reduced. Temple festivals were missed. Family gatherings stopped. The house that once held generations now stood quiet. Walls aged. Plants overgrew. Memories remained. **To be Continued**
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