Sync the watch; go clockwise

Time travel is all fiction. You get into a time machine, shut yourself in, and vroom! The next moment (oops! no 'next moment' in time travel) you show up in Akbar's court, Asoka's vihaara or Ajatashatru's battlefield. Take care; the last guy killed his own pop.

- R. PRASANNAN

Poppycock! This isn't time travel; this is time teleportation, and all fiction—the kind of thing that Washington Irving (Rip van Winkle), H.G. Wells (The Time Machine) and Mark Twain (A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court) fantasised about. You can't go back in time. If you could, then you could go and kill an ancestor, and prevent your own birth.

Time travel, on the other hand, is real; you and I are doing it right now. Physicists would tell you, we are all travelling in time at the rate of one second a second. It's another matter that the bloke who is waiting for his girlfriend in a park would think every second is an hour, and a guy with a black warrant on his head would think every hour is a second. But then, physics is neither about lovelorn hearts, nor about evil heads destined to hang.