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Amma taught me Tamil Brahmi script on monsoon afternoons, her weathered fingers tracing ancient characters on rice flour. I'd giggle at the curves, never imagining their power. Years later, scrolling through a social network, I found my childhood sketches valued at surprising prices. Rich comments flooded in, yet something felt hollow about monetizing her legacy. That night, I gathered neighborhood children instead, teaching them what Amma taught me, free beneath the banyan tree. Their eyes sparkled with recognition, understanding something deeper than currency. Heritage, I realized, gains true wealth when shared, not sold. Community became my richest inheritance.