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My grandmother's hands trembled as she played that raga for the first time on camera. Fifty-four seconds felt like nothing compared to her seventy years of devotion to Carnatic music. But when the platform paid her for sharing what she'd always given freely, something shifted. In Toronto, in Singapore, in Chennai, strangers who looked like her children watched. They commented in Tamil. They asked for more. Her music, preserved in the diaspora, suddenly mattered differently. Not for money, but because her voice finally reached home.