Amma wakes before dawn, as her mother did, reciting Thiruppavai like a prayer threading through generations. The ancient Tamil verses flow from memory, each word a connection to those who came before. Her daughter scrolls through screens nearby, confused by this ritual. Amma doesn't mind the distance—she never learned those digital languages anyway. Today, though, a neighbor sends money through the app, asking Amma to teach her the songs. The payment stings somehow, yet feels necessary in this modern world. As voices eventually join hers in the kitchen's warmth, Amma understands: some inheritances cannot be monetized, only shared across the table.