The only place where IST—Indian Stretchable Time—doesn’t work

is where my foundation was laid.

I grew up in the fauj.

So 8:00 pm never meant 8:00 pm.

It meant 7:45.pm

And if you reached at 8, you were already late.

Sixteen years in the Army—

not a lifetime, but long enough to permanently wire punctuality

into the mindset of most BRATs of my time.

After Dad retired, parties became slightly confusing.

We’d arrive while staff would still be setting up tables 

who would look at us like we were zombies—

too early, too alive, too sincere.

And we’d quietly wonder

if we had got the date wrong,

the venue wrong,

or the time completely wrong.

Dad, being Dad, figured out a workaround.

For an 8 pm party, he’d finish dinner, get dressed—

shoes on (very important)—

so he wouldn’t slip into a deep sleep and wake up at sunrise.

He’d take a short nap and reach by 9.

Still… among the first few to arrive.

We learnt.

But clearly, not enough for IST.

Even today, true fauji kids—Parul and I—

are fashionably early,

even when we make a sincere attempt to be late.

In an era where being late has become fashionable,

arriving on time feels almost rebellious.

Show up early and people look at you with concern—

as if you’ve misunderstood life itself.

Because apparently, the later you arrive,

the more “important” you must be,

and if you’re very, very late,

you’ve clearly been busy being extremely VIP.

People with VIP syndrome may keep the host waiting for hours,

but suddenly their five minutes become priceless.

Those five minutes must be fully utilised—

for drinking, partying, dancing—

certainly not for listening to a speech.

And sometimes I wonder…

who is actually smarter?

The one who arrives on time and waits patiently?

Or the one who arrives later than late,

creates drama,

and still manages to sulk?

Still figuring it out.

Meanwhile… I’ll be there by 7:45pm for a 7.30 pm event .. 😉☺️

— Suvi Scribbles ✨