OUR CLOCK
My little Oxford defines ‘Clock’ as a time measuring instrument periodically wound
up, kept in motion by springs or weights acting on wheels and recording hours minutes etc by hands on a dial’. We have a fine specimen of it at home. It is pretty old, an octogenarian, I should say. My father says it was bought sixty years back from a German firm [which makes it all the more precious], I am sure it must have been manufactured twenty years before he bought it. Though old by age our clock is quite young in spirits because it still requires all the attention and affection demanded by a sentimental wife .My father lavishes on it all his love generously. Without prejudice I should say that I often feel jealous of this old granny who scores over all his children, even me his youngest daughter, in getting my father’s affection and gentle care.
Recently I happened to see a Hitch cock film ‘The man who knew too much’ and the show started with the title ‘The clang of the cymbals and how it affected the life of an American couple’. It reminded me of the song-laden chimes of our clock and its effect on my father. I have often wondered how attached one can become to this old lousy thing, which creaks and groans in the silent night disturbing our sweet slumber. Half of my father’s leisure time is spent on it but the pity is that it never reciprocates the attention bestowed on it. He refuses to sell it in spite of my mother’s repeated requests and never bothers about the money he spends in repairing.it.The sight of our boy servant carrying it like a coffin to the repairer has become a regular feature. Hardly a day passes without an argument between my father and mother about disposing of the clock. In my mother’s opinion the clock is with one foot to the grave and the only way it can serve us now is by bringing the maximum amount as its worth. To make it show the correct time is as impossible as making a dead man get up from his grave But my father turns a deaf ear to all such arguments and an advocate as he is, he will argue the case though vanquished
My father’s love for his clock exceeds all normal limits .His vain attempts to correct the clock every time it goes wrong has developed in him almost a passion for all time-denoters. It is very funny to see him sit with half a dozen wrist-watches at home near the radio at 7-45 in the morning to get the correct radio time at 8 .I have often wondered how he manages to correct all these as well as the clock simultaneously. This is a daily circus repeated at 12, 6. and 9. At 9 o clock in the night he goes to bed after checking once again the correctness of all time keeping mechanism at home If any one of them is slow or fast, even if it by one minute or so, he wont retire to bed before correcting it. Being a lawyer he seems to believe that even the inanimate clock should be given a chance to go through the due process of law before passing the final verdict If all of them show the correct time he goes to sleep with the satisfaction of a father who sees his children obeying his commands without protest .The constant ticks of the heavy pendulum lull him to sleep
Then in the solemn night’s tingling silence, while I will be dozing over a book, my father’s anxious question rouses me up “How many strokes did you hear? 11 or 10? Only his hands pointed towards the clock helps me grasp the meaning of his question .The clock has recorded the time as 11 and my father is evidently worried whether it struck exactly 11 or one less. Even though I may not have heard a single stroke I tell him it struck 11 lest he should spend another hour on it disturbing everyone asleep
There is a mystery about our clock and even about my father’s love for it He is a bit over sentimental about it, But his love for it seems to be infectious and the clock has become a ‘dear’ to all except me who look at it with a mixture of envy and bitterness as I still feel that this exquite curio gets all my father’s attention which should duly come to me, his youngest child The long dragging sounds of its strokes which can match the notes of the seventh octave appeal to my philosophical uncle as a solemn song that should remind us of the passing time and the meaningless hours we spend in this world ---of ‘tomorrows that creep in this petty pace from day to day and yesterdays which have lighted fools their way to dusty death ‘ My brother calls it a lyre and feels quite bored when the clock is with the repairer Even my mother who has been pestering father to sell it is uncomfortable when she does not hear its sweet monosyllabic song My musically talented sister goes mad when this ‘sweet singing bird ‘ is not at home I wonder when its swan-song will be heard
[This was originally written and published in a magazine in 1971.when my father was alive
The clock has survived my father who passed away three decades back .It now adorns the wall of my brother’s flat. My brother who seems to have inherited my father’s fancy for this antique has kept it well polished and it looks pretty now Whether it shows the correct time is a matter of speculation. But I have completely got rid of my jealousy now and am now an admirer of the clock]
My little Oxford defines ‘Clock’ as a time measuring instrument periodically wound
up, kept in motion by springs or weights acting on wheels and recording hours minutes etc by hands on a dial’. We have a fine specimen of it at home. It is pretty old, an octogenarian, I should say. My father says it was bought sixty years back from a German firm [which makes it all the more precious], I am sure it must have been manufactured twenty years before he bought it. Though old by age our clock is quite young in spirits because it still requires all the attention and affection demanded by a sentimental wife .My father lavishes on it all his love generously. Without prejudice I should say that I often feel jealous of this old granny who scores over all his children, even me his youngest daughter, in getting my father’s affection and gentle care.
Recently I happened to see a Hitch cock film ‘The man who knew too much’ and the show started with the title ‘The clang of the cymbals and how it affected the life of an American couple’. It reminded me of the song-laden chimes of our clock and its effect on my father. I have often wondered how attached one can become to this old lousy thing, which creaks and groans in the silent night disturbing our sweet slumber. Half of my father’s leisure time is spent on it but the pity is that it never reciprocates the attention bestowed on it. He refuses to sell it in spite of my mother’s repeated requests and never bothers about the money he spends in repairing.it.The sight of our boy servant carrying it like a coffin to the repairer has become a regular feature. Hardly a day passes without an argument between my father and mother about disposing of the clock. In my mother’s opinion the clock is with one foot to the grave and the only way it can serve us now is by bringing the maximum amount as its worth. To make it show the correct time is as impossible as making a dead man get up from his grave But my father turns a deaf ear to all such arguments and an advocate as he is, he will argue the case though vanquished
My father’s love for his clock exceeds all normal limits .His vain attempts to correct the clock every time it goes wrong has developed in him almost a passion for all time-denoters. It is very funny to see him sit with half a dozen wrist-watches at home near the radio at 7-45 in the morning to get the correct radio time at 8 .I have often wondered how he manages to correct all these as well as the clock simultaneously. This is a daily circus repeated at 12, 6. and 9. At 9 o clock in the night he goes to bed after checking once again the correctness of all time keeping mechanism at home If any one of them is slow or fast, even if it by one minute or so, he wont retire to bed before correcting it. Being a lawyer he seems to believe that even the inanimate clock should be given a chance to go through the due process of law before passing the final verdict If all of them show the correct time he goes to sleep with the satisfaction of a father who sees his children obeying his commands without protest .The constant ticks of the heavy pendulum lull him to sleep
Then in the solemn night’s tingling silence, while I will be dozing over a book, my father’s anxious question rouses me up “How many strokes did you hear? 11 or 10? Only his hands pointed towards the clock helps me grasp the meaning of his question .The clock has recorded the time as 11 and my father is evidently worried whether it struck exactly 11 or one less. Even though I may not have heard a single stroke I tell him it struck 11 lest he should spend another hour on it disturbing everyone asleep
There is a mystery about our clock and even about my father’s love for it He is a bit over sentimental about it, But his love for it seems to be infectious and the clock has become a ‘dear’ to all except me who look at it with a mixture of envy and bitterness as I still feel that this exquite curio gets all my father’s attention which should duly come to me, his youngest child The long dragging sounds of its strokes which can match the notes of the seventh octave appeal to my philosophical uncle as a solemn song that should remind us of the passing time and the meaningless hours we spend in this world ---of ‘tomorrows that creep in this petty pace from day to day and yesterdays which have lighted fools their way to dusty death ‘ My brother calls it a lyre and feels quite bored when the clock is with the repairer Even my mother who has been pestering father to sell it is uncomfortable when she does not hear its sweet monosyllabic song My musically talented sister goes mad when this ‘sweet singing bird ‘ is not at home I wonder when its swan-song will be heard
[This was originally written and published in a magazine in 1971.when my father was alive
The clock has survived my father who passed away three decades back .It now adorns the wall of my brother’s flat. My brother who seems to have inherited my father’s fancy for this antique has kept it well polished and it looks pretty now Whether it shows the correct time is a matter of speculation. But I have completely got rid of my jealousy now and am now an admirer of the clock]
posted by ammu at 5:28 AM
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