We had some errands to run around our old area, and by the time we wrapped up our shopping, exhaustion and hunger took over. Though lunch was ready at home, we decided to give in to our craving and stop by our favorite Chinese restaurant — Imperial Dragon.
It was the weekend, yet the restaurant was relatively empty. Parking, however, was still a mini adventure! As we entered, we couldn’t help but notice the décor — bright red buntings, tiny Chinese dolls, and plush chair cushions, all bathed in varying shades of red that gave the place a festive glow. The interiors were a thoughtful blend of tradition and modernity — red, black, and gold intertwined to symbolize good fortune, warmth, and understated sophistication.
Inside, the air carried the faint scent of soya and ginger, mingling with the irresistible aroma of sizzling garlic from the kitchen.
We settled into a cozy corner and skimmed through the menu, more out of habit than curiosity — we already knew what we wanted. As we waited for our food, two elderly ladies — perhaps in their late sixties — walked in.
In the center of the dining area stood a long, “Last Supper”–style table, with multiple tables joined together. The ladies took their seats there, and within minutes, the quiet restaurant transformed. Giggles, cheerful voices, and animated conversations filled the air.
One by one, more women joined — silver hair, freckles, glasses, walking sticks, and the kind of grace only time can gift. Their joy on seeing one another was infectious. Soon, the restaurant sounded like a bustling marketplace — laughter echoing, hands reaching out for hugs, gentle teasing, and bursts of applause.
I couldn’t stop watching them from the corner of my eye. There they were — elegantly dressed in soft-hued salwar kameezes, lost in their little world, radiating warmth, comfort, and friendship. Fun truly has no age limit.
And then came the best part.
The restaurant manager — an elderly Chinese gentleman, probably in his seventies — happened to walk past their table. One of the ladies tapped his arm and exclaimed, “Weren’t you in the other outlet about fifteen years ago?”
He smiled, pleasantly surprised. “Yes, yes!” he replied.
The lady beamed like she had just won a prize. “See, I told you!” she announced proudly to her friends.
What followed was a burst of chatter as all the ladies started talking to him at once. The poor man was blushing pink from all the attention. As he walked away, he grinned and said, “Enjoy your lunch, ladies” — and we could tell he meant it.
Soon, their conversation drifted to how long they had lived in Dubai — most had been here for 45 to 50 years.
Somewhere between their laughter and stories, I realized I had overeaten. Maybe it was the food, but I think it was the joy of watching those beautiful souls — still full of life, friendship, and childlike cheer.
I smiled to myself, thinking — that’s exactly how I want to grow old.
As a silent observer I would like to say –
Moments like these remind me that joy doesn’t belong to the young — it belongs to the spirited. Age might line our faces, slow our steps, and change our rhythm, but laughter, friendship, and warmth keep the heart forever young.
Watching those ladies made me believe that the real art of living lies in celebrating ordinary afternoons — in laughter that spills freely, in stories that refuse to fade, and in hearts that never forget how to find joy in simple things.
Blessmesai 