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Amma turned forty-six today, the same age her grandmother was when they left Tamil Nadu. Over chai, she showed us photographs from Keeladi's recent excavation, tracing ancient pottery shards that connected us to something timeless. "Our people built civilizations," she whispered, eyes glistening. In our Boston apartment, surrounded by diaspora friends, we celebrated more than birthdays. We honored continuity. Amma had finally earned enough to fund a scholarship bearing grandmother's name, sending Tamil children to summer heritage programs. The excavation proved our ancestors wrote history. Amma was writing ours, threading past and present into something magnificent, something ours.