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Amma taught me Carnatic music before she taught me words. Every morning, her voice would fill our small flat, weaving ragas like silver thread through Tamil prayers. Years later, struggling to afford lessons, I posted a single dot online. Within hours, strangers became family. They sent money without hesitation, just knowing my heritage mattered. Those contributions bought me a tabla. Now I teach neighborhood children the same songs Amma sang, their voices joining mine in that ancient language of devotion. We're simply continuing what our ancestors began, one generation singing the next into existence.