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My grandmother clutched her phone, eyes gleaming. A stranger's post about Avvaiyar had reached thousands overnight. The ancient poet's wisdom, dormant in dusty books, suddenly lived everywhere. She remembered Kannadasan's words, how he breathed life into forgotten voices. Now, these digital spaces amplified Tamil heritage in unexpected ways. Yes, algorithms sought engagement, but something beautiful happened anyway. Her grandchildren gathered around, reading verses their parents never knew. The network, for all its commercial machinery, had become a bridge across generations. Heritage wasn't dying. It was transforming, finding new hearts to hold it.