Still Hands
A quiet story of missed moments and ticking memories
The name of the shop on the faded signboard was New Time Corner. Only the letters reading Time remained clear while the rest faded into the dust. Inside the small room the air always stayed heavy with the ticking of clocks. It felt like time had stopped here and only the hands kept moving.
Kader Mia was wearing a magnifying glass over his eye and inspecting an old clock. At that moment the glass door pushed open and a young man entered. He wore an ironed shirt and a tie with a briefcase in his hand. His eyes showed deep urgency. He walked straight to the watchmaker and placed a small red cloth on the desk. Opening the folds he revealed an old gold-colored Omega watch with a slightly cracked glass.
Can you fix this watch uncle? Rashed asked while trying to catch his breath.
Kader Mia raised his glasses to his forehead and spoke in a casual tone. There is nothing in this world that cannot be fixed except human fate. Fate is not a watch that you can tighten with a screwdriver.
I mean will this watch run? I have very little time. There is a meeting in Gulshan.
If you have little time, why did you come to a clock shop? Time runs a bit slower when you visit a place like this. Did you not understand? Sit down. Why are you driving nails into your own feet by standing uselessly?
Rashed did not sit. He kept standing and staring at the watch. It belonged to his father who passed away last week. While cleaning the wardrobe he found the watch among a heap of dust. At that time, it was completely dead. Rashed felt as if an unspoken complaint from his father was trapped inside those tiny gears. His father often said before dying that Rashed had no time to spare a few words.
What is wrong with the watch? Kader Mia asked.
I do not know. It has been dead for a long time. My father probably never took care of it.
Who said he did not take care of it? Kader Mia held the watch close to his ear. Then a mild smile appeared on his face. The watch actually wanted to run all along. But a gear inside got jammed with rust. People are just like that. When the rust of ego builds up inside, they refuse to move forward. Come back in three days and I will fix it.
Exactly three days later when Rashed entered the shop heavy rain was falling outside. Dhaka rain always brings an endless hell of traffic jams. The collar of the shirt of Rashed was wet and his hair was messy. As soon as he stepped inside Kader Mia pulled the watch from the drawer and placed it on the table.
Get Golam Mohiuddin’s stories in your inbox
Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.
Tick tick tick tick.
Amidst the heavy ticking of all the clocks in the room the sound of this small watch felt completely different like the heartbeat of a living soul.
Rashed looked in surprise and spoke. Oh it is running! It is ticking at the exact right time!
It has to tick because the job of a watch is to give time. Kader Mia lit a bidi and spoke. The spring inside was a bit bent and I straightened it out. But there is one problem.
The chest of Rashed tightened a little. What problem?
If you wear this watch you might get a little late for your meeting in Gulshan.
Why?
Because wearing this watch makes you want to pause and look around. Your father used to hand over this watch without saying a word and just gaze at it. I am an old man and I understand many things just by looking at human eyes. He wanted you to pause. This mechanical hustle of the city is not real life.
Rashed could not say anything. He pulled out his wallet to pay the money.
Kader Mia stretched out his hand and refused the money. Instead, he looked at the old watch on the table and let out a long sigh. You do not need to pay. The price of this watch cannot be paid even with all the clocks in my shop. You brought an unspoken word left behind by your father and I fixed it. That is my only reward.
Rashed picked up the watch. Through the glass the hand was moving in a flawless rhythm. Beyond the sound of the rain outside a familiar voice echoed in his mind asking if he wanted to share a cup of tea.
Rashed wore the watch on his left wrist. After a long time, the internal clock inside him also began to tick in a normal and calm rhythm.
I’m reaching out to a few storytellers I deeply respect. Let’s join efforts to bring classic, atmospheric narrative flow and pure story-craft back to the forefront of modern writing!
Tagging: Anchal Bhuyan ✨, Sunita Chakraborty, Hooria Akbar, Silent Pages, Vinod Bhardwaj, Seema Tripathi, Anuradha Banerjee, 𝗥𝘂𝗱𝗿𝗮 𝗡𝗮𝘁𝗵, and my brother Sourojit Das
