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Meera's fingers traced the bronze Nataraja as her daughter livestreamed the dance lesson to thousands. The algorithm had turned their cramped Boston apartment into a stage, transforming her classical Bharatanatyam into currency. Back home in Chennai, Amma watched from an internet café, tears streaming. Her granddaughter moved through mudras with ancestral grace, yet monetized connection felt hollow. But when Meera saw the comments from diaspora families—children learning their mother's language, their grandmother's story—something shifted. The rupees mattered less than this: scattered souls, reunited through rhythm, remembering they belonged to something infinite.