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Amma called from Chennai, her voice trembling with news. The Keeladi dig had unearthed pottery bearing our family's ancestral symbols. My heart raced. Here in Toronto, I'd felt untethered, scrolling through strangers' curated lives, chasing digital validation. That night, I shared the discovery. Comments flooded in from distant cousins scattered across continents. A cousin in Singapore sent articles. Another in London researched our lineage. We weren't just connected through screens anymore; we'd touched something ancient, something ours. The real wealth, I realized, wasn't in followers or algorithms. It was this: roots running deeper than any algorithm, binding us to soil, to story, to each other.