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Amma wakes me before dawn, as she always does during Margazhi. We sit together, her voice steady reciting Thiruppavai's verses, the ancient Tamil words weaving through our kitchen like incense. My daughter asks why we must rise so early, and I smile, explaining how this forty-day devotion connects us to generations of women. Later, I share the morning's meaning in our PaybookClub chat. My cousins respond with their own traditions—grandmother's recipes, childhood memories. Through our screens, we're together, bridging miles and years. Heritage lives not in perfection but in these imperfect, loving moments we choose to keep alive.