Beyond the Ticking Clock
On a relaxed Saturday I was reading an article on the life of Albert Einstein outlining his life and anecdotes.
One of the lines quoted by him triggered a story:
"When you are courting a nice girl an hour seems like a second. When you sit on a red-hot cinder a second seems like an hour. That's relativity."
The lines are so relevant, relatable and an absolute fact even in the present day.
Advait, a 32 year old executive who's life ran on calendar invites, endless cups of tea, and the conviction that five minutes of silence meant something had gone terribly wrong.
Most of the days by 9:00 a.m., he would have already closed a few deals, replied to several emails, and postponed his breakfast—for weeks in a row. The only thing more immovable than Advait’s schedule was his belief that time, like resources, was always in short supply. His schedule was jam packed everyday and he planned his every minute, and had no room for surprises in his life. People used to say he was a machine, a genius, even a nightmare—but to him, that was just a normal. In spite of staying in a non metro city like Pune he was still such a stickler to his routine.
Every morning at 10:00, old Ajit would open his tiny watch shop "AJIT TIME PALACE" in the heart of the city. At 75, his hands were still the steadiest in the town. People said he fixed watches the way a healer tends to wounds—with infinite patience.
On a rainy afternoon, Advait, with stress etched on his face, walked into Ajit's shop.
Dropping his expensive watch on the counter, “I need this to be fixed urgently. It is losing two minutes in a week and I have important meetings everyday. Can you have it ready by tomorrow?”
Ajit looked at Advait first, then at the watch. “Watches are like people,” he said quietly. “When you rush them too much, something inside starts to go wrong.”
Advait glanced impatiently at his phone. “I just need it to work perfectly.”
“It’ll take three days,” Ajit replied.
“Impossible! I will pay double if you have it ready by tomorrow.”
Ajit shook his head in a NO and put the watch in a drawer.
“Come back in three days. In the meantime, take this.”
He handed Advait an old brass pocket watch. Advait took it reluctantly as he didn’t have a choice. Realising that every time he wanted to know the time he would have to pull it out of his pocket. What a waste of time he murmured.
Over the next few days, Advait noticed something odd. That old watch kept time differently, some hours seemed to last forever, others passed in a flash. During boring meetings, the hands barely moved. But when he had lunch with his little son, time flew.
On the third day, Advait returned—intrigued and a bit unsettled.
“This watch is broken. Time moves irregularly!”
Ajit smiled. “No, It’s not broken. It’s tuned to your soul, not to satellites. It measures time by how you live, not just by numbers.” Advait could not understand the old man's words.
He handed back Advait's repaired watch. “This one will lose time again if you keep losing your life.” Advait stared at both watches, confused…
“People check the time a hundred times a day, yet never seem to have any,” Ajit went on. “Perfect watches on empty wrists.” This was a profound thought.
“So what do you suggest?” Advait asked, genuinely interested now.
“Understand that there are two kinds of time: the time that passes, and the time you live. My father told me: a watch can count seconds, but only your heart can count moments.”
“How much do I owe you for the repair?”
“For the watch, five hundred Rupees. For the lesson about time… you pay by living differently.”
"Can I keep this watch for a few more days?" Advait sought permission.
Weeks later, Advait came back and returned the pocket watch to Ajit.
“Is something wrong? Did it break?” Ajit asked.
“No,” Advait smiled. “I want to buy it. I have quit my corporate job. I am opening my own business here, with hours that let me decide my schedule and pick up my son from the school.”
Ajit answered: “The most valuable watches aren’t sold. They’re passed down. Keep it. One day you shall realize the most important punctuality is being present when life needs you.”
That winter, Ajit passed away. In his will, he left the shop to Advait with a note:
“To the one who learned that fixing watches matters less than fixing lives.”
Today, if you visit that little shop, you will see a sign on the door:
“We don’t sell time. We remind you how to live it.”
Sometimes we need our watches to stop—so our hearts can start beating again and that's the life Beyond the Ticking Clock.......
