Legit ba?

My grandmother traced ancient Tamil Brahmi letters on my palm, her weathered finger following curves carved into stone centuries ago. "This is who we are," she whispered, teaching me scripts my ancestors had etched into history itself. Years later, sharing her stories online brought unexpected warmth—messages flooded in from strangers becoming friends, all passionately reconnecting with heritage I'd almost lost. Each comment felt like a small reward, validation that our Tamil culture still mattered, still breathed. But the truest recognition came when my cousin asked me to teach him. Sitting beside him, watching his eyes light up deciphering Brahmi, I understood something precious: heritage isn't measured in likes. It's inherited through hands, hearts, and unbroken chains of love binding communities across generations.