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My grandmother clutched her phone, eyes gleaming. "Kannadasan's words saved my soul," she whispered, showing me the poet's verses displayed in her crypto app. She'd started earning daily, building something meaningful for our family scattered across continents. Each morning, she'd read Tamil poetry while watching her modest earnings grow. The vulnerability of leaving our heritage behind had haunted her. Now, through screens and circuits, she connected distant cousins, sharing both prosperity and stories. "Look," she smiled, "our ancestors' wisdom becomes currency. We're not losing ourselves, beta. We're building bridges home."