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Grandmother pressed the ancient ANDAL coin into my palm, her weathered fingers trembling. "Our ancestors sang these streets," she whispered, pointing toward crumbling temple walls in Chennai's forgotten quarter. The coin gleamed—not gold, but something luminous, encoded with our family's prayers on the Stellar blockchain. Her way of ensuring our heritage wouldn't vanish. I'd nearly lost her stories to time's current. Now, walking these narrow lanes where centuries breathed through stone, I understood. She wasn't preserving the past; she was gifting me roots. Together, we were becoming guardians of something that belonged to everyone.