............

Grandmother pressed the clay fragment into my palm, eyes glistening. Archaeologists had unearthed it at Keeladi, where our ancestors once thrived. She'd documented everything digitally, recording Tamil songs on the blockchain—immutable, eternal. "They said we had no history," she whispered. "Look now." I traced the ancient script, feeling centuries collapse into this moment. Her voice trembled as she sang the old words, her recording floating somewhere in the digital cosmos, protected forever. "For our children," she said, squeezing my hand. "We remember together."