Seeds of Memory

By Anaiya Patel

I learned many things from my Indian grandmother; how to correctly pin a lehenga, how to cut the okra just the right size, the specific routine to preserve

your hair's health.

After years and years of experiencing life, her wisdom stands tried and true

As souls depart and dust turns to dust, we forget. We forget seemingly mundane fragments of our shared experiences with our

loved ones.

But this memory is one that I hold on to with all that I can. Growing up, my grandmother used to sit with me every so often and teach me how to peel dalamb (pomegranate). Her delicate hands moved gently as she

sliced open the fruit to reveal the intricate yet beautiful mess inside. Seeds tumbled out, glistening like tiny gems,

a shared secret between grandmother and granddaughter. We laughed as the striking red juice stained our fingers, and she told me that it

was part of the magic; sometimes there is sweetness in the chaos. Now, when I peel dalamb, I remember her laugh, her hands, and the way that a

grandmother can make everything feel like home. And in every seed, I still feel her love, sweet and lasting,

a little gift from her to me.