toxic

Meera's phone buzzed constantly. Each Bharatanatyam video earned ANDAL Coins, converting passion into currency. The algorithm loved her graceful mudras, her authentic devotion. Comments poured in—adoring, demanding, cruel. She danced Andal's verses about divine love, yet strangers dictated her movements, monetizing her heritage. The coins accumulated while her spirit fractured under invisible pressure. One morning, she danced without recording, feeling genuine joy return. Her grandmother watched, smiling. Real wealth, she realized, wasn't measured in coins or clicks. The ancient art needed her soul intact, her community's wisdom honored—not consumed.