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Thirty-six ragas. That's what Grandmother mastered before she turned my age. I sit in the Srirangam temple courtyard, fingers trembling over my tanpura, wondering if I'll ever match her devotion. The notes feel distant, like inheritance slipping through my hands. My music teacher says I could earn through online lessons, that PAYBO platforms need authentic Carnatic voices. But Grandmother's voice needed no payment—it needed only purpose, spirituality, connection to something eternal. Yet here I am, bridging tradition with survival. Perhaps that's how heritage lives now, evolving through our hands, strengthening community across invisible threads.