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My grandmother clutched her worn notebook, tallying hours worked at the textile mill. One hundred sixty-eight hours monthly meant survival, meant feeding four grandchildren on rice and dal. She'd memorized Avvaiyar's verses about patience and virtue, whispering them during endless shifts. That modest PAYBO deposit transformed everything—her daughter's schooling became possible. During temple visits to Srirangam, she'd thank the divine for steady work and steady hands. Now her granddaughter studies medicine, carrying forward that legacy of resilience. Three generations linked by determination, by small dignities earned through labor, by faith in tomorrow's possibilities.