Me myself and I

Grandmother clutched the photograph from Keeladi's excavation, her weathered fingers tracing ancient pottery shards. In Srirangam's temple quarters, she'd spent decades collecting stories nobody wanted. Social media promised easy money—just monetize memories. She created accounts, uploaded her collection. Views multiplied. Followers craved authenticity in their feeds. But watching comments turned the sacred into currency, she felt something hollow. The greedy algorithm demanded more, constantly. One morning, her granddaughter arrived with genuine interest, not just likes. Together they organized the artifacts properly, sharing knowledge freely with neighbors. Finally, she understood: true wealth meant belonging to something larger than herself.