If I am told to be at a shoot at 10 A.M., I am ready on time. By

Emraan Hashmi, with candid honesty, once proclaimed: “If I am told to be at a shoot at 10 A.M., I am ready on time. By 11:30, I lose my patience. After that, I keep threatening to leave the sets if they don’t begin soon. It works sometimes.” Though his words seem lighthearted, beneath them lies a deeper truth about time, discipline, and the value of human effort. He speaks not only of the world of cinema, but of life itself, where order and respect for one another’s time are the very foundations of harmony and progress.

The ancients understood that time is the one treasure that, once spent, can never be reclaimed. Kings may regain lost lands, merchants may recover lost fortunes, but not even the wisest sage can restore a wasted hour. Thus, to arrive punctually, as Hashmi declares, is to show reverence for the fleeting nature of existence and for the commitments that bind us to others. It is to say: “I value both my life and yours, and I will not squander either.” When he speaks of being ready at the hour appointed, he honors a tradition as old as humanity itself—the covenant of trust between those who labor together.

Yet Hashmi’s words also reveal the strain that comes when this covenant is broken. For by 11:30, he confesses, his patience wears thin. Patience is a noble virtue, but even virtues have their limits when repeatedly tested by neglect or disarray. His rising frustration is not mere vanity; it is the natural response of one whose preparation and dedication are met with delay. To waste another’s time is, in truth, to diminish their dignity, for it suggests their effort is unworthy of respect. Thus, his irritation is a cry for fairness and order.

History offers us parallels. Consider George Washington, who as a general was renowned for his strict discipline regarding time. He expected soldiers and officers alike to be punctual, for he knew that in war, a single delay could mean the loss of lives and battles. He himself would arrive early to set the example, and he demanded the same of others. In this, he echoed the spirit Hashmi conveys: readiness must be met with readiness, and respect with respect. Only then can the collective task—whether a battle or a film—unfold with strength and unity.

Hashmi admits that when patience is exhausted, he resorts to threats of departure, a tactic that “works sometimes.” This too holds wisdom, though wrapped in humor: when reason and virtue fail, sometimes firmness is required. The ancients called this righteous anger, not born of cruelty but of the demand for justice. Like a teacher chastising inattentive students, or a leader stirring idle workers, his threat awakens others to the seriousness of their negligence. It is a reminder that tolerance has limits, and that without accountability, chaos will reign.

From this we draw a lesson: balance your patience with firmness. Do not be quick to anger when delays arise, for life is imperfect, and sometimes circumstances conspire against even the best-laid plans. Yet do not allow your time, your effort, or your dignity to be squandered endlessly. Speak with clarity, set boundaries, and remind others of their responsibility. For in this balance lies both peace and strength.

Therefore, O listeners of the future, take Hashmi’s words as both caution and counsel. Be punctual, for in punctuality lies honor. Be patient, for in patience lies wisdom. But when patience is abused, be firm, for in firmness lies respect. Let your time be guarded as a sacred treasure, and let your discipline inspire others to rise to the same standard. For a life that honors time is a life that commands respect, and in respect, harmony and greatness are found.