Now, at 4 AM, you will find him drawing a crooked kolam for the ants. At sunset, he sits with the tree, not to fix it, but just to listen.
He sat down next to her. Without a word, he picked up a handful of rice flour. She showed him how to let it flow between his thumb and forefinger to draw a kolam . He was terrible at it. The lines were crooked. The dots were uneven. Now, at 4 AM, you will find him
"Trees don't speak any language," she agreed, tying her pallu tightly around her waist. "But they feel intention. This tree has seen your grandfather propose to me under its shade. It has seen your father learn to walk. It feels ignored, just like you feel lost." Without a word, he picked up a handful of rice flour
"It's ugly," he said.