Wound to the clock – The Hindu

One day it stopped, as the battery died. At first, it wasn’t a huge deal, but day after day, I became furious, though I could just look at my phone, laptop or tablet. What is the fuss? It’s just time, you could look at it anywhere, but that is when I discovered my obsession with time, specifically the time on the wall clock at home.

The clock is more than two decades old. I remember my parents telling me to do homework on time, come home on time, eat on time, and sleep on time, as if it were their job. They were my time-tellers. It was my innocent, carefree-time era.

Disciple and lover

But now I look up at the clock two times an hour, with pending work and so many meetings and sessions scheduled for the week. It feels like I am its disciple and lover at the same time. I look up at it numerous times, like a lover who is afraid his loved one might get away if not noticed. If you don’t give it attention, it would just run away from you and never come back. Such a mischievous and toxic relationship.

My parents used to look at the same clock, just like me, maybe fewer times, but now when it stopped, they did not care about it. They no longer care about their old clock friend and their precious time — no longer disciples, no longer lovers.

They have now exchanged that toxic, mischievous time for my careless, innocent time. Now I have to deal with it. Maybe one day, as I grow old, I will exchange this time for my careless, innocent time and give the toxic wall clock to the next generation. And yes! I have looked at the wall clock three times while writing this.

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