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Amma's voice crackled through my phone as she recited Thiruppavai verses at dawn. I filmed her weathered hands, the oil lamp flickering behind silver streaks in her hair. The video caught something real—authentic Tamil spirituality the algorithm craved. Monetization enabled overnight. Comments flooded in: strangers finding solace in her chants before sunrise. But the real reward came when neighborhood children gathered at our doorstep, asking her to teach them. Amma laughed, that familiar sound I'd almost forgotten amid scrolling. The coins meant little compared to watching our heritage bloom again, organically, through genuine connection.