It all started one calm evening when I decided to light the lamp at home. Nothing fancy, just the usual ritual my mother performs every day. I poured the oil, fixed the wick, struck a match, and there it was, that tiny flame dancing like it had just got Wi-Fi after a long outage. I stopped and stared at it for a moment. Out of all the five elements we talk about, earth, water, air, fire and sky, it is always fire that we end up using in worship. You can’t really focus on air, it disappears. Water won’t stay still, the sky is too big and the earth is too quiet. But fire, oh fire, it is small enough to sit in your hand and yet dramatic enough to make you feel like you are doing something divine. That’s when it struck me, maybe humanity and fire have been old friends, the kind that cause a bit of chaos together but still get invited to every party. Growing up, lighting the evening lamp wasn’t optional in our house. Amma ran it like a sacred schedule. The moment she lit the kuthu vilakku, ...