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Grandmother clutched the photograph of Keeladi's ancient pottery shards, her weathered hands trembling. Two hundred sixty-five artifacts unearthed, each one whispering stories her ancestors had carried forward. Her grandson scrolled through social feeds, watching numbers climb. Followers. Likes. Currency converting heritage into engagement. "These fragments matter," she whispered, pointing to the excavation images. He paused, recognizing something deeper than metrics—the urgency of preservation, the weight of continuity. Together they shared their grandmother's collection, not for virality, but for truth. The post gained traction differently that night. People began asking real questions, seeking connection to something enduring. Two hundred sixty-five pieces. Two hundred sixty-five bridges between yesterday and tomorrow.