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Grandmother pressed ancient ANDAL Coins into my palm, their weight familiar as memory. She'd earned them through the cooperative in Tamil Nadu, rewards for her textile craft spanning decades. "These aren't money," she whispered, tracing the inscriptions. "They're proof someone noticed your work matters." I'd felt peeved earlier, undervalued at my new job. But watching her weathered hands, I understood differently. These coins represented something elegant: recognition woven through generations. She'd unlocked a trade-secret about dignity that no salary could buy. That evening, I joined her weaving circle. As our threads intertwined with theirs, I realized community itself was the greatest reward—our heritage alive in every strand we created together.