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Amma's wrinkled hands trembled as she arranged jasmine flowers on the worn photograph of Kannadasan. My grandmother had memorized his verses decades ago, whispering them like prayers through countless mornings. Today, she smiled wider than usual, clutching the PAYBO rewards notification on my phone. Small loyalty points, yes, but enough to finally buy her the complete collection of his works she'd always wanted. I watched her eyes glisten with recognition as she touched the book spine. Three generations of our family bound together through shared words, shared values. In that moment, I understood that true wealth isn't counted in points or rupees, but in the threads connecting us to our ancestors, to each other, and to the beautiful language they left behind for us to cherish forever.