From Sundials to “Long Stick at 6”: Mastering Clocks Like a Child

Time is eternal, they say. It is a paradox that simply defies explanation

The early men who walked the earth were probably astonished at how things changed. It would be bright sometimes when a ball of fire showed up, and dark sometimes as the ball seemingly disappeared for no reason. Then, as humans developed scientific temperament and philosophical inclinations, they measured it. It was an effort to make sense of the changes.

The Egyptians used sundials, the Babylonians charted stars, and the Mayans built intricate calendars based on celestial cycles. Ancient Indians used a nimesha (a blink of the eye) as a base unit. Some designed Sundials and water clocks, and some studied planetary motion. and the formless concept that time was began to be measured. It was clear one could not control it—the least one could do was measure it.

Mechanical timekeeping emerged in medieval Europe. The invention of gears and other escapement mechanisms, as they are called, in the 14th century meant the emergence of more precise clocks. As humans moved from being hunters and foragers into creators, time became a commodity, and measuring it became more of a necessity.

Of all the billion tools designed, the analogue clock with three hands of unequal lengths became the master of human life. It simply hung there on a wall or stood arrogantly on a mantelpiece and destroyed the lives of people. The circular devils had taken over life. None escaped it—modest houses, huge palaces, railway stations, and every conceivable place saw one of these clocks crop up.

Every tick of those damned needles was a reminder of something to do or not done. Never once did a tick go the other way, and it only stopped if the mechanism stopped.

Some crazy guys had defined the time within that circular journey of the needles. A circle was thought to be the ideal shape. First came the divisions—hours, minutes, and then the almost meaningless second.

Dealing with Time: No Nonsense

To the young and the uninitiated, the art of reading off these clocks was a challenge. A young kid always wonders why 3 was a quarter and 6 a half for one of the needles, while it was a seemingly random 15 and 30 for the other needle. The simple-looking clock had numbers and markings that made basic mathematics devilishly convoluted and life equally miserable. Every number there was living a double life of deceit. One as minutes and one as an hour. It was a thoroughly dirty trick.

I remember being frustrated at my attempts to teach my son the art of reading time. I was sure he must have been thinking that this gentleman was around just to make my life difficult. I, for one, let it go and let age and society do their duty. Since then, I had not given it much thought—after all, when you cannot control it, it was better to ignore it.

The other week, I learned something that made me see what I had missed all these days. And yes, it was the young and the uninitiated who showed me the right way to deal with what I had come to hate and then ignore.

It began with my niece.

She would come to my house to play after school. She would have an hour before she had to hop over to other things on her to-do list. Play in the park, meet friends, have dinner, and get ready to sleep early—it was a busy life for a kid all of 3 years. But, she still has a good time, unlike her peers who would go to dance, yoga, and classes of other kinds designed to keep young kids busy. The kids these days seem to really have little time to be children.

While we would be playing, she would glance at the clock once in a while. I was intrigued to see this happen every day. And then I asked her why she was looking at the clock.

She replied, “Nanny will come when the long stick touches 6.”

It was 4:30 p.m. when the nanny was supposed to come and collect her from my house. I was stunned—the unspoiled mind of a tiny tot had made it as simple as possible. No nonsense, just simple basic interpretation.

As with these things, there was another episode a few days later that cleared the cobwebs in my mind. An early morning discussion with our house help the next day completed the picture.

The house help comes in around 10 in the morning. We needed her to come in early the next day, as we had to go out to meet someone. On hearing my wife’s request, she said she could come at aath-nav (eight-nine in Hindi).

It sounded all wrong.

It seemed to be an approximation of a different level; one could not give a range when asked for an exact time. The question was repeated, and the same answer was repeated. When quizzed a third time, the young lady pointed at the clock and said aath-nav again, with a pause between them.

It was then that the whole thing dawned on us. The entire concept of reading a clock was being redefined. The ladyhad taken our niece’s theory to another dimension. She took the longer needle the niece had used to keep track and added the shorter one for the company to complete the theory.

The 8 was the hour and the 9 the minutes, making it 8:45 a.m. Life and its added pressures were being dealt with a touch of innocence and simplicity.

Centuries of time measurement methods, complicated by mathematicians, were being dismantled. The circles, quadrants, and degrees made up by those evil minds were, for once, being ignored.

Remember, life is not to be complicated. There are enough tricks that time creates as it goes away in a relentless march—the least we could do is bother less about how it is measured. So next time you look at your clock, don’t be intimidated. It has been sorted out and its devilish teeth pulled.

When my niece grows up, I will probably ask her about the only trick that remains—how does one separate the midday and the midnight? My guess is, she would rather simply say, “Look out of the window and look for the sun,” and that would probably be the right thing to do almost everywhere south of the equator.

All my mates in the Northern Hemisphere will have to find a way to deal with that. I can’t help if the sun in your part of the world is weak, gets bullied, and has no schedule of its own.

I am a friend, yes—but then I can’t do everything for you. Ask the niece, you might say. Well, I might someday.

It is almost gyarra-dus (11-10) on the clock that hangs menacingly on the wall across my table as I write this. Yes, it is just 10 minutes to midnight and not 10 past 11, and I have to go.

PS: If you like this note, say so… and leave a comment don’t waste your “time” by punching holes in my theory. Go get a life—and some time back.

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