<p id="thickbox_headline">The tick-tock of hundreds of antique clocks fills a small hall in the southwestern Pakistani city of Quetta, where collector Gul Kakar swears he will spend all the time he has left caring for them.</p>.<p>Delicate wristwatches, weighty pocket pieces and battered table models clutter every surface, while the pendulums of wall-mounted and standalone grandfather clocks sway as their deep bongs mark each new hour.</p>.<p>"I know their language," Kakar, a 44-year-old police officer, tells <em>AFP </em>during a visit to his collection.</p>.<p>"They tell me their problems, and I understand."</p>.<p>Kakar's collection, some of which dates back to 1850, is housed inside the city's police headquarters compound.</p>.<p>That means they are behind heavy gates and high concrete blast walls in a province that for years has been rife with ethnic, sectarian and separatist violence.</p>.<p>The tight security may contribute to the lack of traffic, though Kakar admits he has found few other aficionados to admire his museum and there are hardly any visitors.</p>.<p>"People in Quetta don't show much interest," he confesses.</p>.<p>Kakar's obsession began decades ago, when two family clocks fell out of order and were sent for repairs.</p>.<p>"I started taking an interest... then I got the idea that I should get more clocks."</p>.<p>Soon he began collecting in earnest and his museum today is the result of more than 18 years of scouring the internet for antiques -- even persuading friends overseas to buy secondhand pieces and ship them to him.</p>.<p>He has also lost count of how many he has -- or how much he spends on his collection -- but income from a family-run landholding means a "major portion" of his police salary goes to clocks.</p>.<p>"For as long as I am alive, I will take care of them," says Kakar, dressed in a smart black vest and carrying a brass-topped walking stick.</p>.<p>He admits, however, that nobody in his family shares the passion, and that after his death, the collection may simply be sold.</p>.<p>He is ready to donate everything if an official or the private sector steps in to fund a museum in his name.</p>.<p>"I have not so far received any such offer," Kakar admits.</p>.<p>Despite all the pieces, he still yearns for one last item -- a grandfather clock similar to a famed 19th-century timepiece kept in Jacobabad, in Sindh province.</p>.<p>That clock -- said by some to be the oldest in what is present-day Pakistan -- was handmade in 1847 by John Jacob, the East India Company colonial administrator who gave the town its name.</p>.<p>Kakar lights up as he explains the mechanism of the clock, whose pendulum is sunk 32 feet deep in a well.</p>.<p>He has never seen it, but is keen to one day.</p>.<p>"I would give up my entire collection for that one."</p>.<p><strong>Watch the latest DH videos:</strong></p>
<p id="thickbox_headline">The tick-tock of hundreds of antique clocks fills a small hall in the southwestern Pakistani city of Quetta, where collector Gul Kakar swears he will spend all the time he has left caring for them.</p>.<p>Delicate wristwatches, weighty pocket pieces and battered table models clutter every surface, while the pendulums of wall-mounted and standalone grandfather clocks sway as their deep bongs mark each new hour.</p>.<p>"I know their language," Kakar, a 44-year-old police officer, tells <em>AFP </em>during a visit to his collection.</p>.<p>"They tell me their problems, and I understand."</p>.<p>Kakar's collection, some of which dates back to 1850, is housed inside the city's police headquarters compound.</p>.<p>That means they are behind heavy gates and high concrete blast walls in a province that for years has been rife with ethnic, sectarian and separatist violence.</p>.<p>The tight security may contribute to the lack of traffic, though Kakar admits he has found few other aficionados to admire his museum and there are hardly any visitors.</p>.<p>"People in Quetta don't show much interest," he confesses.</p>.<p>Kakar's obsession began decades ago, when two family clocks fell out of order and were sent for repairs.</p>.<p>"I started taking an interest... then I got the idea that I should get more clocks."</p>.<p>Soon he began collecting in earnest and his museum today is the result of more than 18 years of scouring the internet for antiques -- even persuading friends overseas to buy secondhand pieces and ship them to him.</p>.<p>He has also lost count of how many he has -- or how much he spends on his collection -- but income from a family-run landholding means a "major portion" of his police salary goes to clocks.</p>.<p>"For as long as I am alive, I will take care of them," says Kakar, dressed in a smart black vest and carrying a brass-topped walking stick.</p>.<p>He admits, however, that nobody in his family shares the passion, and that after his death, the collection may simply be sold.</p>.<p>He is ready to donate everything if an official or the private sector steps in to fund a museum in his name.</p>.<p>"I have not so far received any such offer," Kakar admits.</p>.<p>Despite all the pieces, he still yearns for one last item -- a grandfather clock similar to a famed 19th-century timepiece kept in Jacobabad, in Sindh province.</p>.<p>That clock -- said by some to be the oldest in what is present-day Pakistan -- was handmade in 1847 by John Jacob, the East India Company colonial administrator who gave the town its name.</p>.<p>Kakar lights up as he explains the mechanism of the clock, whose pendulum is sunk 32 feet deep in a well.</p>.<p>He has never seen it, but is keen to one day.</p>.<p>"I would give up my entire collection for that one."</p>.<p><strong>Watch the latest DH videos:</strong></p>