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My grandmother's voice crackled through the video call as she recited Avvaiyar's ancient Tamil verses. I filmed her weathered hands gesturing, her eyes luminous with memory. The short clip spread across the platform, earning enough to help her medical bills. Back in Chennai, strangers messaged gratitude. They'd forgotten their mother tongue until her words awakened something dormant inside them. My elated heart swelled watching diaspora children relearn syllables their parents had abandoned. The algorithm rewarded our heritage. Through screens and borders, we gathered again, a scattered family remembering who we were together.