This morning, something quietly beautiful unfolded in the most unexpected place—a medical lab waiting room. I had gone in early to for some bloodwork done, bracing against the crisp morning air as I waited outside with a few others. That’s when I saw him.
An elderly gentleman, probably in his mid-eighties, stood a few feet ahead of me. He was the very definition of old-world class. Everything about him was a picture: a black hat tilted just so, a well-fitted black jacket under a long, heavy peacoat-style trench coat, a gleaming black cane resting in his hand, and polished oxford shoes that told stories of years past. But it was his piercing blue eyes that stood out the most—sharp, observant, and full of a kind of quiet dignity that you rarely see anymore.
Eventually, we all settled into the waiting room, the usual clinical stillness filling the space. I sat quietly, distracted by my usual thoughts until, from the corner of my eye, I noticed the gentleman again. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a light blue satin handkerchief—the kind our grandfathers used to carry, long before disposable tissues and rushed lives.
Slowly and with care, he began cleaning his rectangular, black-framed glasses. It wasn’t just the act itself but how he did it. There was no hurry in his movements. He cleaned each lens gently, as if time didn’t exist. There was something deeply comforting in watching him, a moment so refined that it felt almost sacred. I savoured it like you might savour a warm chai on a biting cold morning.
Once done, he held the handkerchief from its middle, folding it softly before tucking it neatly back into his pocket. It was such a simple gesture, and yet it struck me hard—because these moments are becoming rare. That level of grace, that quiet elegance, that pride in one’s appearance and behavior—it’s disappearing before our eyes.
It reminded me of gold—how timeless it is, how it never loses its value, how it quietly outshines everything else without needing to shout. This man, in his quiet corner of the world, was gold. And like many precious things, he belonged to a world that was slowly fading away.
We live in an era where speed is prized over substance, casual has replaced classy, and etiquette is often mistaken for pretentiousness. But here, in a drab little waiting room, a simple act—cleaning one’s glasses with care—became a quiet protest against all that.
I don’t know his name, and I may never see him again. But this morning, I was reminded to slow down, notice, treasure the little rituals, and hold close the vanishing beauty of an era we’ll never truly get back. Because some things—like gold, like grace—are worth holding onto.