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Grandmother's wrinkled hands guided mine through the mudra my mother learned from Avvaiyar's wisdom centuries ago. Bharatanatyam wasn't performed for cameras then, yet here I was, filming our kitchen practice for strangers online. The notification pings felt hollow against the sacred geometry of our movements. Monetization offers arrived daily, each one tempting. But watching Amma's face illuminate with pride as our video reached distant relatives in Chennai reminded me why we truly danced. Money couldn't measure this: three generations, one song, infinite connection.