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

Grandmother clutched the worn poetry book, Kannadasan's verses yellowed with time. Her grandchildren gathered around her phone, scrolling through their social network, disconnected from their Tamil roots. "Look here," she whispered, sharing his words digitally. Somehow, cash-strapped and humble, he'd immortalized their culture. The oldest granddaughter paused mid-scroll, reading aloud in Tamil. Her siblings leaned closer. The poet's spirit bridged generations that evening, reminding them that true wealth wasn't measured in likes or comments. It was this: belonging to something eternal, something theirs.