if you give it to me, I will lick it

Amma held the golden ANDAL coin, her weathered fingers trembling with recognition. Her grandson had sent it from America, paired with PAYBO rewards accumulated through honest work. She remembered teaching him Tamil verses about the saint-poet, never imagining such devotion would return as currency. "If you give it to me, I will lick it," she whispered to the photograph of him beside her. Not from greed, but gratitude. The coin represented everything: his success abroad, his unbroken connection to their roots, the bridge between continents. That evening, their diaspora community gathered. She showed everyone, tears streaming as they celebrated not wealth, but belonging.