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THIS ABOVE ALL
I go by the stopwatch
Khushwant Singh 
With
years I have become more and more intolerant of
unpunctuality. I refuse to see people who are late for their
meeting with me. I am rude to those who arrive late at other
peoples’ parties. Instead of minding my own business, I have
made it a fetish that has afflicted me, and made my one-time
friends regard me as a crackpot. They keep their distance from
me. I no longer go with an ordinary watch but abide by the
dictates of a stopwatch. There are many people who observe
strict punctuality without boasting about it.
The most famous
of this breed was Bapu Gandhi. He had a large pocket watch
dangling down his dhoti. Amongst the living is Lord
Swaraj Paul. He regards coming before time also improper.
Whenever he visits me, he stays in his car till it is the exact
time he has fixed. My notion of punctuality includes imposing it
on other people as well. Most people resent my doing so and have
stopped visiting me.
 One incident
sticks in my memory. I was in Aurangabad staying in a hotel.
Next to the reception desk was a life-size picture of Sai Baba.
The atmosphere was very relaxed as all the guests on holiday had
come to visit the Ajanta and Ellora caves. Ajanta was two hours’
drive in one direction. Ellora was an hour’s drive in another.
Guests kept different time for their meals. It was not
acceptable for me. I wanted my meals on the dot. I had told the
manager. He coined a name for me: Waqt ka Paband Singh (bonded
slave of time). It could not be a compliment but I took it as
one.
Hidden hand
A recent
incident has shaken my belief in rationality. Punam Sidhu, who
is an expert on matters connected with taxes, has been
transferred from Chandigarh to Delhi. She rang me up and asked
if she could drop in to say hello. She is good looking and
brainy. I asked her to come the next day. The next afternoon
Penguin (India) sent me a copy of the new edition of my novella,
Burial At Sea.
I had forgotten
I had dedicated it to her and her husband. If she had come a day
earlier, I could not have shown her the edition. It could not be
a matter of mere coincidence. Was there a hidden hand behind the
incident?
Friends around
the corner
Around the
corner I have a friend;
In this great
city that has no end;
Yet the days go
by and weeks rush on;
And before I
know it, a year is gone;
And I never see
my old friend’s face;
For life is a
swift and terrible race;
He knows I like
him just as well;
As in the days
when I rang his bell;
And he rang
mine;
If we were
younger then;
And now we are busy, tired men;
Tired of
playing a foolish game;
Tired of trying
to make a name;
"Tomorrow,"
I say, "I will call on Jim;"
"Just to
show that I’m thinking of him;"
And tomorrow
comes;
Tomorrow goes,
and distance;
Between us
grows and grows;
Around the
corner, yet miles away;
Here’s a
telegram, sir;
Jim died today;
And that’s
what we get;
And deserve in
the end;
Around the
corner, a vanished friend.
(Courtesy:
Henson Towne)
Whiskey
A politician
was asked about his attitude towards whiskey. Here are his
candid comments: "If you mean the demon drink that poisons
the mind, pollutes the body and desecrates family life, then I’m
against it. But if you mean the elixir of life, the shield
against chill, the taxable potion that puts needed funds into
public coffers, then I’m for it. This is my position and I’ll
not compromise."
Money
Workers earn
it, spendthrifts burn it, bankers lend it, forgers fake it,
swindlers swindle it, taxes take it, people dying leave it,
heirs receive it, thrifty people save it, misers crave it, rich
increase it, robbers seize it, gamblers stake it —– we could
use it.
(Contributed by R.P. Chaddah,
Chandigarh)
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