Her grandmother, Ammachi, still lived in the family tharavad —a century-old house with a red-tiled roof and a courtyard where jasmine vines grew wild. Anjali had returned for Onam , the harvest festival, but secretly, she felt like a tourist. She had forgotten the smell of rain hitting dry earth.
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“Come,” Ammachi said, settling onto the woven coconut mat. “The rain is singing. Listen.” Her grandmother, Ammachi, still lived in the family