-Brian Mendonça
Suddenly my wrist watch
stopped working. It was as though my life had stopped. I was so dependent on
seeing its reassuring dial as I made my way through the day. Now the seconds
handle just did not seem to move – no matter how much I prodded those knobs
that protruded over it.
The watch was a beauty. A
solid brown Kenneth-Cole which watch repairers have seldom seen. It was a gift
from Mario Lismar from Angola. Weaned completely on Portuguese, I used to teach
Mario to speak English in Delhi. When he and his wife Alda were transferred, he
gifted me this watch. No – it was not digital.
Now it was not working. Of
course the TATA group had gifted me a Titan watch (in fact, several) for
services rendered, but the gleaming gold/cold metal strap was not my cup of
tea. I pined for the smart musk brown leather strap which adorned the
Kenneth-Cole. Of course the strap itself was one of several which had to be
replaced at intervals owing to constant use.
Earlier watches were
priceless. Today you can wear one every week as per the fashion of the day. Watches
can be had at discounts, but is one really necessary when there are wall
clocks, clock towers and time settings on your mobile phone – not to mention
the laptop on which I am typing this?
It must be something to do
with the battery, I thought. An earlier watch repairer we used to go to, used
to sit on a watch for several days until we finally retrieved it –at a price.
He definitely had no sense of time! He also used to ask daft questions like,
‘Do you want me to put this cheap cell from China or the more expensive one?’
Having no clue what was what, we usually nodded vigorously leaving him to – of
course – give us his most expensive cell. Surely that was small price to pay
for keeping our status intact?!
Nowadays every time we
pass by a toy shop Dwayne never fails to spy a watch and throw a tantrum so
that we buy it for him. He has forgotten he already has 3 back home. Somehow it
makes him feel grown up, but I still don’t understand why he has to sleep with
it.
As we waited in the market
space at an elderly watch-repairer’s Spartan cubicle, I felt the joy of waiting
in peace. He carefully pried open the surface on the reverse, inserted a fresh
cell (with no spiel), brushed the
insides and handed it to me. The earlier strap had a deep gash in it, so I
asked him to change that too. As he did so he gently advised me not to use the
same hole every time. It was that simple.
I read somewhere that my
earlier watch in my school days, an HMT, was heavy because the Indian middle
class seemed reassured by its weight. I still have not figured that one out.
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Published in Gomantak Times Weekender, St. Inez, Goa on Sunday, 31 May 2015. Pix courtesy thinkgeek(dot)com.
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