Dedication
Generally to anyone who has been in the twin cities at least once in their lifetime.
Specifically to all the people, whom I have been an acquaintance, friend or foe during my stay in Hyderabad.
Begumpet is now devoid of the roars of aircraft engines that used to fill the space with a distinct mark of its own, that used to make me look up to the skies involuntarily; with the curiosity of a three year old who saw the aircraft very close for the first time on his way to pre - school, while waiting at the railway gates in Willingdon island. The anti-climax that the carriers had put up, a dutch airliner re-routed to Delhi, everything now becomes a thing of past as Hyderabad gets a new international airport, state-of-the-art as media says, in a till-now unknown place called Shamshabad. Indeed, a great event for Hyderabad and aviation industry in India, but the not so state-of-the-art, shabby little airport at Begumpet littered with cigarette stubs, its pillars stained by pan-masala spit, overcrowded by autowallahs and hawkers would still be etched in my memory for ever.
As I look back, lots of things have changed in the cities, since I first came here about eleven years ago, a short visit that is, but still evergreen in my thoughts. The official arrival happened about four years ago, when I came in with a merry heart having secured a job in one of the much respected software firms in the country. Since then, I have traversed the twin cities, by foot, on autos, on bikes, on the bus, in taxies, in cars and once, even in a freight lorry.
No specific plan in mind, I lock my flat and get started.
Prakash nagar junction is not buzzing with activity as one would have expected a month ago. There are no taxis lined up, no aero-chef trucks hanging around. Does an airport feel bad? I don’t know.
I ask an autowallah to take me to Paradise, the ever so famous food joint in secunderabad. “You haven’t had Biryani from paradise yet?” Would be a question anyone would post you once you are couple of months old in the cities. The autowallah demands 30 rupees. I say the standard “ Meter pe chalo bhai..” dialogue. He agrees on “meter pe paanch rupaye badhke…”
I get down before the restaurant; I have some affliction in ignoring the aroma arising out of the restaurant. But I overcome the temptation. The street is bustling with activity. The sense of traffic is one of who gets there first. Yet very few accidents actually are reported in the cities. I walk towards Sindhi colony through the Prenderghast road, where supposedly the best beauties of Cyberabad reside (Paigah colony comes a close second is how the myth goes). My attempt is not at gawking at the budding cyber-starlings, but to relive the moments. I go past Masha Allah, where I first reported for the job, Saravana bhavan, the little veggie cafeteria which used to give me a daily dose of idiappam sometime back. I walk past the chat bhandars lining up the streets of Sindhi colony, to the Food World. It is so very obvious to meet acquaintances there, I smile at a few, take out cash from the ATM counter.
The walk back begins, I reach Paradise junction again. I walk toward Patni center, carefully avoiding the traffic. I see Dadus through the corner of my eye while waiting at the junction. Chat, jalebis and sandwiches dance before my eyes.
There is the movie theatre on my right hand side, where I watched my first Telugu movie and The angrez and laughed my guts out. Salim Phenku, Ismail Bhai and Jahangir comes alive. That makes me think of my buddies at Infocity, where-in we all had nicknames based on the characters from the movie. Patni center, a place I dread the most in the cities, for I have this terrible dislike and hence a deep fear of the transsexuals that inhabit the place. I spot a group of them and hide behind a car to escape being noticed. The Secunderabad clock tower stands high up with all its glory and history deceivingly carved into it, just a piece of masonry for a casual onlooker, much more for some people.
The St. Mary’s church, where I attended midnight mass on the first new year in the cities, having haplessly failed in the search for wine; the menu at “Pickles” priced the bottle at half my salary then. Sangeet, I have seen more movies there than in any other theater. I saw Swades, my first movie in the cities there. Waiting for a train to arrive in the wee hours on a cold December night, the late night show was did help a lot. I take a right from the junction and move towards the mother Teresa statue. I board a bus to ECIL. Just like that. The bus takes me through the neatly maintained cantonment. Amidst the tanks captured from the war, canteens and army personnel standing guard with rifles, the bus moves on, shaking violently at every turn. I get down at the bus stand. I walk through the street that houses one of my very good friend’s apartment. I take special care not to be noticed by his mother standing on the balcony. The guilt of not attending his brother’s wedding weighs upon me.
I now take a bus back to Secunderabad bus station. I doze off in the bus. The howls and hoots of street vendors near the Secunderabad station wakes me up. My legs take me into the railway station. I buy a platform ticket, and enter the platforms. The day I arrived is fresh in my memory, with a train full of then strangers yet all with the same destination, many of whom would later become my friends for life. I spend some time watching trains come and go. The porters trying to persuade passengers into carrying their luggage, little kids with wide eyes lurking around busy, strained looking parents, beggars opening up filthy parcels in search for food.
I get out of the station and decide to stroll the market. Market has not come alive yet, still it is full of people, all sorts of them. Speaking all sorts of languages, wearing all sorts of clothing, carrying all sorts of things. Vendors advertise their products in Telugu and Hindi. Shoppers bargain with all their might. Stray dogs lie panting below little ad hoardings. Street children try all sorts of tricks to get a coin or two from the busy folks. I walk through the fruit and vegetable market, the machli market and lots of kirana stores. Walking past the shining cheap clothes that hang from little hooks in small outlets, turning a deaf ear to all the pleadings from a street urchin to lend him some money, I reach the malayali store. I just cannot fight the urge to have an ethapazham. I exchange a few pleasantries with the chettan at the store and move along. I come out of the market through the other end, I board an autorikshaw, he takes me to Tank bund.
Tank Bund - where in I used to spend all my evenings in the cities. The undesirable stench of rotten weeds and city-waste is compensated by the beautiful city skyline. One gets used to the bad stuff very easily, I believe. Hussain Sagar glistens in the summer heat. Buddha ever so graceful, amidst the blue. A few speed boats draw thick white foam lines. I walk through the length of tank bund and buy a ticket into Lumbini park. The memories of the blasts at the laser show shakes me a bit. I decide not to get into the show. I take the mechanized boat to the Buddha statue. I am still not convinced that the statue was resurrected in 1992, I recheck the plaque and prove myself wrong. I do a little trick now, I don’t take the boat back to Lumbini, but board the one that goes to eat street.
Eat street is not into its busiest best yet, but there are a few couples lingering around with a cold coffee or an ice cream in hand, in search for the best seat in the open. I grab an Iced Eskimo and walk towards the public gardens. I stare into the shining Hussain Sagar again. A warm empty stare. There are a few people boating, kids and women folk shout as the speed boats create elegant foam designs in the grey waters. I now go to Prasadz, the multiplex which made me stand astounded, agape. I take the escalator to the first floor. People trying out all sorts of games, I reminisce the endless times I have tried winning a price token from the toy frog's mouth using the fishing rod. The climbing wall, someone has managed to reach the top hook and the crowd around cheer and whistle. As I step out of the multiplex, a girl asks me to take a look at the new luxury car they have displayed. I politely decline even though the charm of the little damsel was hard to resist. I walk past NTR gardens, the tall tree ride visible from outside the gate. Excited children run about nagging their parents for balloons and soft toys.
Past the secretariat building, through the busy traffic underneath the flyover, I walk to Birla Mandir. The view from the top balcony is breath taking. The whole of twin cities as in a canvas. The graceful marble construction with golden spheres crowning the sanctum sanctorum fills me with a feeling a cross between peace and nostalgia. Next is the planetarium and science museum. I have seen the universe lying on my back on the comfortable seats in the dome more number of times than anyone could imagine, but the shows now don’t excite me as they would have some time back. Neither do the exhibits in the museum, half of them dysfunctional now, though I have pedaled like mad to generate power to get going the camera and television set before.
I move to Abids, past the Big Bazar, where I won a key chain riding on my luck, by throwing the basket ball backwards right into the basket, the streets lined up with shops selling either garments or assembled electronic equipment, Ramakrishna theatre, the last ray of hope when tickets would have been sold out at all other major screens on a release day. I take some Osmania biscuits from Karachi bakery and proceed towards Koti. Koti – where one could find any book under the sun at throw away prices now look barren without the book shops. The old city has started showing its real colours now. Little galis with lots of bangle and ear ring shops line up the road on either side. Past the Imlibun bus stand and the Mahatma Gandhi Bus Station, I stand before the Salar Jung Museum. The Masterpiece musical clock, the hustle to occupy the front row before twelve noon, beautiful paintings, orbs and jewels of the rich Nizams all flash before me in an instant.
I go to the Mausam Jahi market to get hold of a cup of ice cream and then move on to charminar. Mecca Masjid on my left side with flocks of pigeons creates a site to behold. Charminar towers before me, though shades of algae and soot from the vehicles’ exhaust has stained the monument, the inner glow is still prominent. Through the Chudi Bazaar and endless little outlets that sell pearls, I walk along and now I feel tired. I board another autorikshaw and after a little bargain over the fare, the driver agrees to take me to the Zoo park.
I don’t enter the park, I stand at the gates, looking at the huge mass of people moving in and out. I visualize the white tigers with their cuddly cute cubs, the stench at the hippo’s water hole, the lion with his queen on the rock throne, chirpy birds of all kinds, scary den of the nocturnal animals, the toy train that I always wanted to take but never did. The memories of a Safari comes back to my mind when a bear jumped on to the window of the vehicle and wouldn’t let go. I can’t suppress a chuckle as I remember the snaps my friend took of the animals and all that had come up were the rear ends. Golconda fort would be visible in the horizon as one would reach the periphery of the park in the Safari.
The next long ride, takes me to a diametrically opposite world. I take a nap in the bus and all I remember is a glimpse of Hyderabad railway station, the exhibition grounds at Nampally, Assembly building and Lakdi ka Pool. I alight at Khairatabad and am in a dilemma whether to take the Raj Bhavan road , or walk directly to Punjagutta. The hospital where I appeared for the medical examination for my first job, scared to death deep within whether my alcohol and nicotine levels would make any difference, loses the battle to my first office. The post office, Governor’s residence and KFC make way to TSR Towers. My first real office where I learnt the intricacies of the corporate world. Where I wrote my first lines of code that would be consumed by an end user, where I made friends and fought through discussions, slogged hard and planned parties. Zafran, Ohris and the little tea shop, near Yashoda hospital where I spent innumerable nights with my friends after a few drinks, talking about world peace to pornography, love life to office politics till dawn break, make way as I proceed to Somajiguda circle. The fly-over is still under construction, a chill goes down my spine as I remember the shocking instance when a few beams had collapsed. Inadvertently and foolishly enough, I place a hand over my head.
I reach Hyderabad Central, arguably the most happening shopping mall. I buy the little piece of cake on the stick and hold it in the chocolate fountain, till I am satisfied. PVR cinemas show boards that display all the movie names in red. Sold out. I hire a metered taxi now. I move on to Banjara Hills. The posh area where the big guns reside, lots of big cars and mansions on either side of the road. Past the Taj Krishna (or was it Taj Banjara? I have always had this confusion and still remains) and Care hospital I now stand before city center mall. The top floor with restaurants and pubs, the sizzlers in Indijoe and shooters from Firangi Pani comes alive. As I stand before McDonalds, all food joints and pubs my buddies and I have visited flashes inside my closed eyelids. From Tabla, Angeethi, Mainland China, Liquids and all the other ones that line up Road Number 1, The ones in central, the rooftops at Kalaniketan and Babukhan mall, Bottles and Chimney, Sixth element, Ohris Banjara, Taj Krishna to Urvashi inn, Nimantran, Blue Sapphire, Silver plate and Akson, where I first found the taste of Kerala food in the twin cities.
I now go to Medhipatnam and wonder when the long flyover would be done and one could enjoy a seamless ride to the airport. The next destination is Golconda fort. As I stand before the marvelous construction, sipping a glass of sugarcane juice, the numerous climb to the top of the fort comes into mind. Every single one of them had filled me with a feeling of having conquered something big and made me feel on top of the world. Clapping away wildly to hear the sounds echo off the building at the summit, ignoring the mosquito bites and the drizzle to view the Light and Sound show, all were part of the fun that I once had there.
I go to Tollichowki and then take the road to Gachibowli. It’s a different world altogether now. Enter Cyberabad. Past Kairali which provides me with the daily dose of fish fry meals, the road to Microsoft, ISB and Infosys, Hyderabad university and the stadium, I move to Lingampally and then to the little village, where I go every weekend to meet the kids from St. Pauls and teach them math and English. I take the route back via the Botanical gardens to Kondapur and then reach Infocity, where I spent another chapter of my professional life. Past the high rise, state of the art looking buildings and my current work place, I now stand before Cybertowers, the landmark that had first begun the IT spree in Hyderabad. Through the crowded Madhapur junction, I take the inner roads of Jubilee hills, past the Secret lake and the less imposing corporate buildings, through Filmnagar where a gangster was shot dead recently and passing Apollo hospital, I reach Rajiv Bhavan, a building unknown to most, but extremely important in my life.
The three months of training that gave me many friends for life, an extended college semester as I now think of it, a mix of terror, insecurity, fun and laughter dance before me. I now reach another landmark, the little building behind the TDP office in Banjara hills, where we spent the ideal idle time on bench. The long walks to SR Nagar on chilly January evenings take me to another carefree world, where one never worried about missing deadlines. That makes me go to SR Nagar, the PG hostel where the young fresh Satyamites occupied a whole floor, and made merry. The golden fox Bar, Stop and go outlet, little cubes dubbed rooms, waking up early in the morning to reach office in time, never untying the tie, as I never mastered the art of tying it, all now things of past, yet so fresh in memory.
I get rid of the cab near Khairatabad metro station and now wait for the train to arrive that would take me to Begumpet. As I wait on the freshly installed bench, Radio Mirchi playing in the background, I try to figure out what places I missed in my little expedition. Mayfair from where I took the buses to STC, Bowenpalli, Balanagar, Runway 9 and the shrubby areas and Dhola Ri Dhani, en route to STC, The fire station near Yatri Nivas, from where every bus trip to Bangalore commence, Bawarchi restaurant, Snow World and many many other little places with their own distinct space in my life. I had missed them all. “Next time”, I assure myself. My train arrives and even before I could settle down, I reach Begumpet station.
I get down and walk through the lanes of Brahmanwadi, another neighbourhood where I spent an unforgettable six month stint. The horrid reek of city waste accumulated in the canal makes me run to the open space near Hyderabad public school. Mayuri Marg, now feels estranged. How many times would I have walked down the lane? I walk past shoppers stop and B&C and am now into Pakash Nagar again. I climb the stairs of my apartment sluggishly, and go straight on to the terrace.
I lie down on my back.
I light up a cigarette and look up at the starry silent sky.
