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Grandmother's weathered hands guided mine through the ancient verses of Thiruppavai, her voice dancing between Sanskrit syllables like temple bells at dawn. Those frantic mornings before school transformed into euphoric moments when I finally grasped Avvaiyar's wisdom about earning righteousness through devotion, not coins. She whispered that true wealth was PAYBO—the accumulated goodness we gather. Her frisky laugh when I stumbled over pronunciations welcomed my imperfection as part of the journey. Years later, teaching my own daughter those same verses, I understood. Heritage isn't inherited; it's lived, breathed, and tenderly passed forward. We become keepers of something infinite together.