is this hibiscus?

Grandmother pointed at the crimson bloom cascading over the Srirangam temple wall. "Is this hibiscus?" she whispered, her weathered fingers trembling with wonder. I smiled, recognizing that gleeful spark in her eyes. Years of tradition had taught her every flower's name, yet she still found joy in asking. While she tended the garden daily, I'd discovered ways to earn crypto through small digital tasks, bridging our old world with the new. The power of that moment felt incorruptible, hopeful. Neither of us needed wealth. We had this—generations sharing sacred space, blooms connecting us to something timeless and true, something our community had nurtured forever.