Old is Gold

When Ayaan’s grandmother passed away, she left him a small wooden box. It was the kind of thing most people would overlook—scratched on the sides, the latch slightly loose, the wood darkened by decades of touch. No key was left behind, and no note explained what it contained. At first, the box sat on Ayaan’s desk as little more than a piece of decoration. He was too busy with work, social media, and the constant hum of modern life to think much about it. But one rainy Sunday afternoon, when the power went out and the Wi-Fi blinked into silence, he finally decided to see what was inside.

He worked at the latch for a while until it gave way with a faint click. Inside, wrapped in a faded silk scarf, were three items: a gold pocket watch, a small black-and-white photograph, and a folded letter. The pocket watch was unlike anything Ayaan had seen in real life—its cover engraved with swirling patterns and a tiny rose at the center. When he opened it, the second hand ticked smoothly, as though it had been wound only yesterday.

The photograph showed a young couple in front of a market stall. The woman wore a sari, her smile warm and bright; the man stood beside her in a crisp shirt, holding her hand. Ayaan recognized the woman immediately—it was his grandmother, younger than he’d ever imagined her. The man was his grandfather, whom he had never met. With trembling hands, he opened the letter.

My dearest Ayaan, the letter began. If you are reading this, it means I am gone, but I wanted to leave you something that is more valuable than money. This pocket watch belonged to your grandfather. He carried it through the hardest years of his life, and it reminded him that time is both precious and fleeting. The photograph was taken on the day we decided to marry, though we had almost nothing. And yet, those were the richest days of our lives. Old things may not always shine, but they hold the warmth of the hands that have touched them, the love of the people who cherished them, and the stories they carry forward. Keep them close, and remember—old is gold.

Ayaan stared at the watch for a long time, the tick-tick-tick echoing in his quiet room. He thought about his own life—fast, restless, filled with new gadgets that seemed to lose value the moment they were unboxed. He couldn’t remember the last time he had held something long enough for it to truly mean something. Over the next few weeks, the watch became part of his daily routine. He carried it in his pocket, winding it every morning. It didn’t tell him the exact time like his phone did, but it told him something else: to slow down. To notice things.

One day, while walking through the old market his grandmother loved, he passed a small watch repair shop. The sign was worn, the window dusty, but something pulled him inside. The shop smelled faintly of varnish and history. An old man sat behind the counter, hunched over a magnifying lens, repairing a clock. The man looked up, his eyes sharp despite his age. “That’s a fine piece you’ve got there,” he said, nodding at the watch.

“It belonged to my grandfather,” Ayaan replied, handing it over. The old man examined it carefully, then smiled. “Made in 1947. This kind of craftsmanship is rare now. You take care of it, and it will outlast us both.” Ayaan left the shop with the watch polished and ticking perfectly, but more than that, he left with a renewed sense of connection—to his family, to the past, to a time when objects were made to last, not to be replaced.

Months passed, and Ayaan found himself changing. He started visiting his grandmother’s old friends, listening to their stories. He picked up his grandfather’s habit of writing letters instead of just sending quick texts. He began to see beauty in things that had lived before him: the smell of old books, the sound of vinyl records, the weight of a fountain pen in his hand. One evening, he took the watch out to wind it, and a thought struck him—one day, he would pass it on. Perhaps to his own child, or a niece or nephew. Someone who would hold it, just as he was holding it now, and feel the same gentle reminder that time is a gift. And maybe, years later, they would read the same letter, see the same photograph, and understand that “old is gold” wasn’t just about things—it was about people, love, and moments that don’t fade with age. The rain started again outside, tapping against the window just like the day he first opened the box. Ayaan smiled, slipped the watch into his pocket, and felt the warmth of the past settle into his present. Some treasures, he now knew, only grow richer with time.