The Swiggy boy rings the bell. He waits, helmet still on, sweat glistening on his forehead.
A hand appears, takes the parcel, and shuts the door before he can say “thank you.” The phone pings: Order delivered. In this small exchange — efficient, wordless, graceless — lies the silent tragedy of our age. We have learnt to transact, not to connect.
It is not only in cities; it is in the passages of our homes. The neighbour who once stopped by to borrow sugar now storms up the stairs to shout about a parking space or a balcony light left on. Conversation has been replaced by confrontation. It is as if courtesy itself has become suspect — an affectation too fragile for the times.
We live in an era where politeness is mistaken for weakness. The one who apologises first is seen as submissive, the one who lowers their voice as timid. A person who listens is called naïve. Our world admires speed, sharpness, and spectacle; there is little room left for grace. We measure strength in volume and dominance, not composure or restraint.
In every aspect of life — online, at work, in neighbourhood disputes — we reward aggression. The loudest opinion wins, the fastest reply prevails, the rudest comment gathers applause. We are becoming fluent in outrage but illiterate in empathy. The law of the forest has returned, in new and clever disguises: the instinct to dominate, to strike first, to see every interaction as a contest rather than a coexistence.
But the truth is simpler. Manners are not decoration. They are the smallest form of empathy we practise daily — a recognition that the world does not revolve around us. Saying “please” is not weakness; it is awareness. Saying “thank you” is not servitude; it is acknowledgement. These gestures do not make us smaller — they remind us we are still human.
There is no heroism in being rude. There is no strength in humiliating another person because one can. To go up to a neighbour and shout, to bark orders at a delivery boy, to treat waiters or drivers as invisible — these are not signs of confidence. They are symptoms of a deeper insecurity, a failure to recognise that civility is a shared inheritance, not a personal favour.
We often say the world has changed — that everyone is too busy, that nobody has time. But time has little to do with it. Courtesy takes seconds; what we have lost is the willingness to see. Somewhere along the way, humility stopped being fashionable. To care became unfashionable. And to be kind — unbearably soft.
Yet, there is strength in gentleness. To stay polite when the world is brash, to speak calmly when others shout, to extend grace when none is offered — these are acts of quiet courage. They do not make headlines, but they keep civilisation from dissolving back into noise.
The next time we feel the urge to shout, to dismiss, or to ignore, perhaps we can pause and remember: the world is not a forest. We do not have to roar to survive. Sometimes, the softest voice is the one that still believes in humanity.
(Prasita Sabari is an award-winning designer and poet. Her debut poetry collection, The Entanglement of Illusions, published by DC Books, is set to release on December 4, 2025)
