missing this

Grandmother's worn copy of Thiruppavai lay open on the kitchen shelf, spine cracked from decades of devotion. My daughter scrolled past influencer content, chasing algorithms that paid. I found her crying, overwhelmed by performance anxiety. That evening, I read Avvaiyar's wisdom aloud—ancient Tamil verses about harmony and purpose. My daughter listened, truly present. No phones. No metrics. Just generations bridging time. She understood then: some treasures can't monetize. Community isn't currency. Heritage is the wealth we inherit, nurture, and pass forward, unbroken.