December 7, 2025

Once upon a time, not so long ago, along the coastal belt of India, lived two inseparable friends — Attu and Battu.

Their friendship began in Class 8 at a modest government school, blossomed through their college years, and reached its peak when both secured jobs at the same organisation.
It was truly the golden era of their companionship.

Yet, not everything was perfect in their bond. They admired many things about each other — and quietly resented a few.

Time and punctuality topped that unspoken list.

Attu was a stickler for time, while Battu was perpetually and unapologetically late. It wasn’t that Battu didn’t care about time; he simply didn’t experience it the way Attu did.He would never miss sacred religious ceremonies, but for every other meeting, he would stroll in a comfortable 30 minutes late.

Attu treated time like a sacred scripture. Every plan, meeting, and commitment was followed with military precision. For him, arriving ten minutes early wasn’t just punctuality — it was a mark of respect. He often said:

“Time is the only thing we all get equally. Wasting it is the biggest injustice.”

Battu, on the other hand, lived in a universe where clocks were decorative pieces. For him, time was fluid, personal, negotiable. He walked through life believing:

“Why rush? Life is already running. I’ll join the race when I’m ready.”

This difference in attitude was a favourite topic near the office water matka or the chaiwala’s stall downstairs.

When Attu wasn’t around, colleagues gossiped that he didn’t have a life beyond the clock.
When Battu was missing, the talk shifted to how unorganised and incorrigibly late he was.

When both were present, Attu would tease Battu by calling him “Late Latif,” and Battu would laugh it off saying, “You’re insulting Latif by comparing him to me!”

“I’ve been trying to get him to come on time ever since we met — many hundreds of years ago. All in vain,” Attu lamented.

“Oh my god, you and your time! What do you even do by coming ten minutes early?” Battu retorted.

“Wait for you,” Attu replied.

And they both broke into laughter.

Over the years, Attu and Battu had countless arguments over time, but remarkably, their friendship remained unaffected by this fundamental difference

One evening, they decided to meet at Taj Mahal Café for a casual cup of its famed filter coffee at 6 PM.

As usual, Attu arrived at 5:50 PM.

By the time Battu finally walked in at 6:30 PM, Attu had downed three filter coffees — two of them consumed in silent rage.

Battu arrived with excuses ready. “You know, I left on time but a black cat crossed my path halfway. I had to wait for a full 20 minutes before I continued.”

“You live five minutes away, Battu,” Attu retorted.

Battu said nothing. Silence was his weapon when he knew he was wrong and out of excuses.

“Battu, I really want to understand this. How is it so easy for you to be late every time? Doesn’t it bother you?” Attu was serious now.

“Attu, listen… I don’t try to be late. My mind just doesn’t panic about time the way yours does.” Battu waved at the waiter and ordered a coffee.

“Panic? I don’t panic. I prepare,” Attu shot back.

“That’s your psychology. You anticipate everything — traffic, delays, unexpected problems. You plan to avoid disappointment. I don’t think that way.”

“Now tell me honestly… what time did you leave home?”Attu was determined.

“On time,” Battu muttered.

“Be honest.”

“6:15 PM,” Battu confessed, and in the same breath added, “Would you like a coffee?”

“I’ve already had three. One more won’t harm me,” Attu grumbled.

“6:15 PM for a meeting at 6 PM. Wah. Very respectful of you,” Attu added sarcastically.

“I do respect you, Attu. It’s just that I don’t associate being late with disrespect. To me, time is flexible. It bends with life.”

“No, it doesn’t. People bend their schedules and moods while waiting for you. One should honour time. Time is given equally to all of us. I wanted a quick coffee and then maybe a movie. But you ruined it.”

“We can still catch a movie, Attu. Relax,” Battu said, sipping his coffee.

“Ay ay ay. I hope you at least come on time for my funeral,” Attu groaned with a face that said “how on earth?”

“Ah, I think I’ll go before you, Attu,” Battu laughed.

“I think you’ll be late there too — after troubling your children and grandchildren,” Attu smiled.

“You know, when I rush and try to follow your timing, I feel suffocated. Like I’m losing myself. I feel judged,” Battu admitted.

Attu paused. “As a matter of fact… I do judge you.”

“So you do judge me?” Battu asked, stunned.

“I do. I think you don’t respect my time,” Attu said bluntly.

“As I said… I don’t see time as a thing of respect. But I get what you mean. By being late, I am being disrespectful.”

Both fell silent.

“And neither of us is actually trying to hurt the other,” Attu finally said.

“I think we’re just wired differently,” Battu completed his sentence… and then added, “Now finish your coffee fast so we can still rush for that movie of yours!”

It was already 7:15 PM.

“Huh. Movie was at 7:00 PM. We still have 30 minutes,” Attu laughed sarcastically, poking at Battu’s time sense.

“I don’t think I can change your habit, and you can’t change mine. So, when you call me, call me an hour earlier — I might actually come on time. And when I call you, I’ll purposely tell you the time 30 minutes late.”

“Works,” Attu smiled again.

And so, Attu and Battu continued their dance with time — one always early, the other perpetually late. Yet, it didn’t matter. Their friendship had weathered countless cups of coffee, endless debates, and the occasional silent rage. They had learned that life wasn’t about who arrived first or who waited longer; it was about showing up for each other, laughing through the differences, and cherishing the moments in between. Because in the end, punctuality could wait, but friendship couldn’t.