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Amma's trembling fingers clutched the phone as rupees transferred digitally from her Chennai account. After forty years in Mumbai, she'd finally gathered enough through our family's modest network—neighbors, cousins, old friends—each contributing what they could. The ancestral house on Luz Church Road needed repairs. Amma wanted to return home, not just visit. Her childhood friends, scattered across continents, rallied together when she posted those crumbling photographs. Money arrived from London, Toronto, Singapore. The diaspora remembered. Last month, I stood watching workers restore the tiled roof, listening to Amma hum old Tamil songs. Our roots, strengthened by those who'd wandered far, were finally coming home.