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Grandmother taught me Thiruppavai verses while scrolling through my phone, her voice competing with notification pings. I'd recorded her melodious chanting, posted it online. Strangers shared it. Suddenly, my heritage became currency, thousands watching our intimate kitchen moments. Money arrived. I felt guilty pleasure mixed with sadistic satisfaction—finally, our culture mattered to algorithms. But watching her sing those sacred Tamil words, unfazed by cameras, I realized something precious. She wasn't performing for payment. She was simply continuing a thread connecting generations. When neighbors began learning the verses, gathering together, I understood. Real wealth wasn't digital.