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Amma taught me raagam before words, her voice threading through our kitchen like jasmine smoke. Each morning, I'd hum the notes while she cooked, our Tamil heritage alive in melody and spice. Years later, I earned PAYBO teaching Carnatic music to children who'd forgotten their roots. Watching them discover their grandmother's voice in their own throats felt wonderful, honest. One student performed at the temple festival, tears streaming down her mother's face. That selfie moment captured something sacred. Our songs aren't just notes. They're bridges connecting generations, reminding us we belong to something larger, something eternal, something ours.