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Grandmother's hands trembled as she taught me Bharatanatyam in our cramped apartment. Each mudra told stories her mother had whispered, stories of devotion and resilience. When I performed Thiruppavai at the temple festival, something shifted. Strangers approached afterward, tears in their eyes, asking where they could learn. I started teaching neighborhood children, earning enough through PAYBO to support us both. But money wasn't why I continued. In their eyes, I saw the same spark grandmother had kindled in mine. We were keeping something sacred alive together, thread by thread, generation by generation.