Uncle Hasan the Elder – Part 9: “The Art of the Fashionably Late”

My cousin was telling me another classic story about the legendary Uncle Hasan—who, by now, you’ll know isn’t just a man; he’s a walking, talking survival manual for daily life. His genius isn’t in gadgets or degrees—no, Uncle Hasan’s brilliance lies in navigating everyday situations with the cunning of a fox and the grace of a seasoned diplomat.

One evening, we were invited to a family gathering. The invitation said, quite clearly, to be there by 5 PM. Naturally, I was with Uncle Hasan, and like any law-abiding, punctual human, I asked him, “Uncle, should we leave around 4:45 to be there on time?”

He turned to me slowly, gave me a look of genuine concern, and said in a tone that felt like a disappointed sensei, “Son, never arrive at the exact time. That’s not civilized. If you say 5, they’ll be ready by 6. Tell your aunt to be ready by 4 so we can leave by 5.” I blinked. He was serious.

And sure enough, that’s what we did. We left late enough to give the host time to panic about napkins, yet early enough to get there before the food turned cold. When we finally arrived—around 5:50 PM—the table was set, the chaos was over, and drinks were being poured. Uncle Hasan’s timing was, as always, impeccable. But the fun didn’t stop there.

On the way, I noticed he was driving like someone on a Sunday stroll. “Uncle,” I said nervously, “maybe we should speed up. Everyone will be waiting.”

“Never,” he replied with a sly grin. “You never want to be the first guest. You get trapped. They’ll ask you to help—set the table, move chairs, chase the toddler around, peel cucumbers. It’s not a gathering anymore; it’s unpaid labor. We arrive just late enough to skip the chores but early enough to catch the kebab.”

When we finally walked in, Uncle Hasan didn’t miss a beat. He put on his best regretful face and told the host, “So sorry we’re late. The car started acting up out of nowhere. I’ve got to take it to the mechanic first thing in the morning.”

His wife gave him a look that said, “Really?” And I just stared at the man in admiration. Later, over some tea, he leaned in and added, “Also, I mentioned a work trip. Might have to go out of town tomorrow.”

I whispered, “Uncle, what was all that about?” He smirked. “You see those old aunties? If they think we have a working car, they’ll all ask for rides home. But if our car’s ‘in the shop’? Boom. Freedom. And that ‘work trip’ story? Insurance. If they’re planning another gathering tomorrow, I already have my excuse. Always be three moves ahead, my boy.”

I couldn’t argue with that logic.

But the highlight of the night came when he saw the family’s newly married groom sitting by himself. Without hesitation, Uncle Hasan waved him over.

“Come, come, sit with me,” he said, offering the young man the coveted seat next to his own.

Later, I asked, “Why him?”

He chuckled. “Because newlyweds and fresh in-laws are the VIPs. Sit next to one, and suddenly the hosts triple your chai servings, refill your dessert plate without asking, and smile at you like you cured their migraines. It’s the golden guest effect.”

Now, every time I go to a party, I channel my inner Uncle Hasan:

• Arrive just late enough to dodge all chores.

• Blame the car if necessary.

• Invent a work emergency for tactical retreat.

• Find and befriend the newlyweds.

Honestly, it’s not just about surviving family gatherings—it’s about thriving in them.

Uncle Hasan doesn’t just go to parties. He orchestrates them.