Mumbai diaries: It’s time to tell, of an horologist par excellence

Dear friends,

Some of you have already heard about Mr. Harish, an exemplary horologist and owner of a tiny, fascinatingly-cluttered watch repair shop called Ashok Watch House in Mumbai, on my social media last year during my annual trip to India.

However, it’s time to tell my Substack friends, even though I admit to being disappointed that my offer to interview Mr. Harish—to elevate his fascinating work and his quirky workspace for the world—was sadly ignored. More on that, below.

First, I clocked in this picture of Mr. Harish when I visited his store last year to get my mom’s watch repaired. One thing’s for sure—if your time stands still, this man gets it going!

The clutter in Ashok Watch House is unimaginable and I am not sure how Mr. Harish gets to what he needs, but time and time again, his repair worked like clockwork.

Growing up, I knew Mr. Harish as the watch repair guy in Matunga, a crowded market area in Mumbai, and my favorite go-to place even today to relive childhood memories of flower, vegetable, and everything-in-life shopping.

From roadside booksellers creatively using 100-year old trees as props, betel leaf (paan) vendors, and even a flute player trying to sell wares, to its colorful South Indian temples and vegetable markets, Matunga in central Mumbai, has it all, and has its pulse on Mumbai living.

Mr. Harish’s store, situated in this crowded locale, boasts of repair of every contraption of time imaginable, including its quirky processes—from simply replacing cells to fixing parts of stubborn grandfather clocks.

It always began with peering into things with his loupe, perpetually attached to one of his eyes, which were, by the way, the color of chocolate-covered caramel. The eye, perpetually jailed behind the protruding lens, fascinated me as a child—it seemed like he was trying to peer right into me, like a scary seer of some sort. I never understood the store—cluttered to its core and quite frankly boring to a 7-year old—and typically could not wait to get out of it, tugging at mom’s sari. But mom would ask me to shut up with her characteristic exasperation, especially when she was trying to get a prized wrist watch fixed.

Mr. Harish at work in his characteristic posture. Tall and lean, he looked strangely comfortable in the disorganized chaos around him.

Since my visit to Mumbai last year, I tried to reach out to Mr. Harish, through many different channels, in my own editorial effort to elevate regular denizens across the world—in vain. I was told by my brother in Mumbai, who reached out to a friend, who happens to be a friend of Mr. Harish (a very high-context, Indo-Chinese whispers style of connecting with people) that he does not like the limelight—I respect that. And, that the attention garnered by my blog might spotlight his business too much. That part, I don’t get, and I sure hope this post does not get people to make a beeline to his store?

I explained, my intent is not to spotlight his time repair business as much as teasing out his story—what brings about his fascination and dexterity with time pieces strewn all around his store in a giddy mumble-jumble? Does he get a headache peering at minutiae or is it calming? Does he believe that the “devil is in the detail” in other parts of his life too? How many hours has he clocked in, on clocks and watches? Does his life work, God willing, like clockwork as well?  And what was the hardest piece of time he repaired and how long did it take? Alas, these questions shall remain unanswered for now. I earnestly (perhaps a bit too meticulously, perhaps, to scare him off), explained my intent via my What’s App messages to Mr. Harish, only to receive no response. I don’t understand Mr. Harish’s reticence, but his perfect work in an imperfectly cluttered milieu is fascinating nevertheless, and I felt obligated to highlight him and his store—with all its imperfections—for the world.

I bet, if he ever chose to share his story, we might learn life lessons on how a stitch in time saves nine.

This year, as I passed his store on my several errand runs to Matunga, it struck me that while so much time—5 decades at least since I have been seeing the store—had passed, the store itself stood still in time. Mr. Harish has gray hair now, but he still stands tall and proud in the midst of scraps of paper, metal, and other shiny knick-knacks that I bet he used time after time. For just a second I had an atemporal moment imagining myself to be Lucy Pevensie in the Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe walking through the end of the store and stepping into a timeless fantastic reality, turning back the hands of time.

Now that would be magical, but my guess is, not even the time master, Mr. Harish himself would know that trick despite his daily travel back and forth into time.

Meaningfully yours,
Anu Prabhala

PS: For those wondering, the wrist watch industry accounts for around 80% of India’s timepiece market. Revenue in the watches segment amounts to US$1.84 billion in 2023 and the market is expected to grow annually by 6.14% (CAGR 2023-2026). In short, watches are so popular in India, it’s not surprising that Mr. Harish has managed to stay in the business of fixing idiosyncrasies of time, for a long time.

PPS: This is the most precious time piece of all, and somewhat unfixable, thankfully. It’s the wrist watch my late father wore all his life—an Omega Seamaster—now my prized possession.