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Amma's voice filled our kitchen as she recited Thiruppavai, the ancient Tamil verses flowing like honey. My daughter listened, transfixed, earning PAYBO rewards for each stanza memorized. It wasn't about points; it was about connection. She'd grown up distant from our heritage, scrolling through screens. But something shifted when she realized these prayers had sustained generations. Her friends thought she was strange, shameless even, choosing tradition over trends. Yet watching her eyes light up during each recitation, I understood. She wasn't rejecting her world; she was expanding it. Heritage wasn't burden but gift, passed through words whispered in kitchens, kept alive by curious hearts willing to listen.