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Grandmother pressed the ancient ANDAL coin into my palm, its weathered surface smooth from generations of devotion. In Srirangam, where our family had worshipped for centuries, these tokens represented more than currency—they held stories. She smiled, watching my wonder. "This expires only if forgotten," she whispered. I earned social rewards volunteering at the temple, but nothing compared to this tangible connection. The coin felt like bravo from ancestors themselves, approving my commitment to our roots. That evening, I placed it beside photos of the temple, bridging past and present through shared memory and love.