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Grandmother's trembling fingers traced the bronze Shiva statue as she hummed Kannadasan's verses. Her granddaughter filmed the moment, watching likes accumulate on her screen. Once, such devotion meant everything. Now it meant currency. The girl hesitated, remembering childhood afternoons learning Bharatanatyam in their cramped hall, grandmother's patient corrections shaping her movements into sacred geometry. That knowledge couldn't be monetized, couldn't trend. Yet tonight, watching her grandmother's weathered hands move through mudras, she understood. Some inheritances transcend algorithms. She switched off her phone, joining her on the mat instead. Together, they preserved what truly mattered.