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My grandmother clutched Kannadasan's poetry collection, whispering verses about life's deeper truths. She'd spent decades working in the temple, earning modest wages, yet her spirit remained luminous. When Swami Paramarthananda visited our village, she sat absorbed in his discourse about dharma and purpose. "Why work so hard for so little?" I once asked her. She smiled, eyes twinkling. "Child, I earn something more valuable than money. I earn peace. I earn belonging." That wisdom became my inheritance, passed through generations, binding our community together in ways wealth never could.