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Every December, Grandmother gathers us before dawn for Thiruppavai recitations, her voice threading ancient Tamil through our sleepy kitchen. This year, my cousin livestreamed it. Strangers commented, asking for translations, sharing their own family rituals. What started as stolen moments—brief videos between work—became something beautiful. People from diaspora communities found themselves in those sacred songs, in Amma's weathered hands guiding us through verses centuries old. The viral reach was incidental; what mattered was connection rekindled. Our heritage, once confined to living rooms, now dances across screens, reminding us that some treasures multiply when shared.