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Grandmother's trembling hands unfolded the yellowed manuscript—Kannadasan's poetry collection, tucked away for decades. She'd inherited it from her mother, never imagining its worth. The auction house called it breathtaking, investment-grade literature. But as she read those Tamil verses aloud, something uncontrollable stirred within her. Her grandchildren gathered close, breath taken away by her passionate recitation. The words painted landscapes of their ancestors' struggles and triumphs. When she decided against selling, choosing instead to preserve and teach, their eyes shone with understanding. True wealth, she realized, wasn't monetary. It was watching heritage bloom across generations, each child becoming a guardian of their own story.