old coins

My grandmother pressed ancient copper coins into my palm, their Tamil Brahmi inscriptions worn smooth by centuries. "These hold our stories," she whispered, photographing them for her followers who paid to learn our heritage. I laughed at first—monetizing memory seemed wrong. But watching strangers discover Avvaiyar's wisdom through her posts, seeing young Tamil speakers burning with pride for their script, something shifted in me. These weren't just relics anymore. They were bridges. Through a screen, across generations, connecting us all to something deeper than likes or coins. Real wealth, I realized, was sharing what makes us whole.