By A.I.R

Change is a peculiar fellow. It does not arrive with a grand procession, nor does it knock on the door and introduce itself politely. Instead, it tiptoes in, rearranges the furniture, and by the time you notice, your favorite chair has vanished, and you’re left wondering whether you ever owned it in the first place.

Some things disappear entirely, some evolve beyond recognition, and a rare few hold their ground, refusing to be moved by the tide of time. The world, after all, is not a static place, nor does it have the patience for nostalgia.

But what makes some things stay? What gives them the stubborn ability to cling to existence while others fade away without so much as a farewell note?

Let’s take a moment to ponder—preferably over a cup of hot filter coffee, which, thankfully, has not yet disappeared.

The Vanishing Acts of Everyday Life

If you were to ask my grandmother, she would insist that the world has changed beyond repair.

“Once upon a time,” she would begin, adjusting her glasses as if preparing to deliver a great epistle, “letters arrived with the fragrance of ink and paper. People waited for them, read them slowly, and re-read them just for the joy of it!”

Now, letters have disappeared, replaced by text messages that arrive with an impersonal ‘ping’ and are discarded as swiftly as they appear.

The milkman, once a revered figure with his reliable, slightly judgmental cow, has been replaced by plastic packets. The grocer who once knew exactly how much coriander you needed has been unceremoniously replaced by online deliveries, which, without fail, forget the most crucial item in your order.

One by one, the old ways have stepped aside, making room for newer, shinier, and more efficient replacements.

Yet, amidst all this disappearance, some things remain.

The Ones That Refuse to Budge

Certain things, against all odds, have stayed. Take the humble dosa, for instance. No amount of globalization, fusion cuisine, or “deconstructed gastronomy” has managed to shake its place at the breakfast table. People may now eat it with avocado or call it a “fermented rice pancake,” but a dosa is a dosa, and it shall endure.

Likewise, no matter how modern a Tamil household may become, there will always be that one steel tumbler that refuses to be replaced, passed down through generations like a holy relic.

Then, of course, there is gossip. Regardless of whether it is conducted in a village under a banyan tree or over a WhatsApp group, the spirit of exchanging “Did you hear what happened to so-and-so?” remains eternal.

So, what is it that makes some things linger while others vanish?

The Secret to Staying

Perhaps the secret to surviving change is not in resisting it but in becoming indispensable.

• The old betel leaf seller on the street corner has survived while larger businesses have collapsed, simply because he knows his customers’ exact preferences, down to the last sprinkle of lime.

• That one neighbor, who seems to know everything about everyone, has persisted through generations—not because people need the information, but because they enjoy it.

• The railway tea stall, despite the rise of air-conditioned coffee chains, remains ever-popular, because nothing quite replaces the experience of sipping tea from a chipped clay cup while trains rumble in the background.

Things that stay do so not because they are resistant to time, but because they attach themselves to memory, to habit, to something that people feel they cannot do without.

Making Peace with Change

Of course, we cannot hold on to everything. There was a time when people protested against email, arguing that handwritten letters were irreplaceable. Now, one can hardly convince anyone to answer a phone call.

Change happens, and we must make peace with it. But every now and then, it is worth pausing to ask—What should I take forward? What should I let go?

Because in the end, the world moves on, whether we like it or not. The milkman may retire, the grocer may close shop, and the letters may stop coming, but as long as we have our stories, our laughter, and our morning coffee in a steel tumbler—perhaps, we have not lost too much after all.