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Amma taught me Thiruppavai verses by the temple steps in Srivilliputhur, her weathered hands guiding mine through ancient Tamil words. Years later, I filmed her reciting them, posted the video nervously. The algorithm loved it. Strangers sent money, called me clever for monetizing tradition. But watching the comments sting—some mocking, others pitying—I realized something. This wasn't about likes or payment. It was Amma's voice, a thread connecting generations, meant for living rooms and temple corridors, not screens. I deleted the monetization. Some reactions changed to warmth. What matters most can't be bought anyway.