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My grandmother hummed ancient Carnatic melodies while scrolling through her phone. The algorithm promised connection, yet left her feeling hollow. She posted a faded photograph of her youth, receiving emoji reactions instead of genuine conversation. That evening, I found her rereading Kannadasan's poems about human longing. "Technology shows us everything except what matters," she whispered. I sat beside her, learning the morning raag she'd been practicing for decades. We recorded it together, not for views, but for ourselves. In that moment, surrounded by inherited wisdom and her voice, I understood: true wealth isn't currency or clicks. It's being truly seen by someone who loves you.