Indian Standard Time

This is different to Central or Mountain time in one important way. It is never on the actual hour. It is usually around twelve whole minutes past the hour.

Let me explain. We are Indian. Our defining characteristics are eating biriani, wearing brightly colored clothes and being tardy.  This does not mean that we do not respect others, their time or that we are evil or slovenly. Our inner clock is just a few minutes off, that's all.  If Time were a vertebral column, ours would need re-alignment by a chiropractor.

Yet we expect the whole world to conform to this slightly skewed temporal view. We know we have chosen to live in the Western world. We know we are residing in a country whose infrastructure exudes efficiency but we just can't seem to get our chronological act together.  So when we invite you for dinner at 6pm we are not subconsciously expecting you until around 6.10. If you arrive HALF A MINUTE earlier than the hour, we will actually become rather panicky as you will be intruding on critical dinner prep time. Those are precious minutes- enough to wipe down a counter or place a sprig of celentro to garnish the lamb khorma.

If you are meeting us for lunch, do not persist in waiting in the restaurant parking lot a quarter of an hour before the designated appointment time. Where oh where did you people pick up such a deplorable habit?  Maybe all Indians were absent the week that particular life skill was taught but somehow we have managed just fine with waltzing in unpunctually, apologizing and changing the subject.

We know. We know. You arrive early to allow for unexpected emergencies. But chaos is our heritage. We know all about disasters- natural and man-made. Our country was split into two, for crying out loud and it was referred to as being IN a state of emergency for many years.  So we are all right with a spot of traffic on the I-130 or a nylon with a ladder in it that may cause you short delays to our lunch meetings.

We are the descendant of a langorous, relaxed people who reclined on veranda lawn chairs watching oxen lumber past while they sipped chai. We were colonized for a century or two.  We fled our homes in the middle of the night when the Partition police approached, were stripped of our jewels. our languages and our identities.

But we have put all of that behind us now. The world has changed. Living here has allowed us to become educated, successful and mainstream. More importantly, the Pizza Hut in Piccadilly Circus has a tandoori chicken topping option and there are Asian newscasters on the BBC with completely unpronounceable names. We love our adopted countries and balk at the thought of living anywhere else. We still cherish our fucshia shalwar kameezes but have also happily acquired Western clothes, ethics and ideals.

We are just a little late to the party sometimes.