Selective Amnesia There was a point to this. But I forgot.

A peep into my (lack of) life in Hyderabad

I wrote this first as an email to friends way back when I was polluting the fair city of Hyderabad with my presence. Things aren’t much different, now.

Unfortunately for you, I’ve already sent this mail and you are reading it. Like even now. So much against your better intentions, you’ll have to tolerate my rambling take on my totally uninteresting life. Short of deleting this mail, which I am sure you won’t. For you are all such good fans of my writing and also hide a masochistic streak in you. Besides which, this mail has got loads of attachments. Also, there’s a small quiz at the end of the mail, and if you fail to answer, I’ll send you this same mail daily.

So, to business. Or life. One or two of you’ve asked me what exactly I do with my evenings and weekends, stuck as it is I am in this desert. I read. I write. Not in that order. I read the fantastically interesting Ponniyin Selvan, rather, re-re-read it. Seeing as how this is my third go at it. That’s how fascinated I am with this epic. I also read the awesomely entertaining Richard Bach and the morbidly illuminating Ayn Rand.

Besides reading these fantastic books, I plot the plot for my book. Which I am sure you will all have heard about by now. Also, I plan the route of my next road-trip. For those in the know, I, along with two other friends, (as of now) will undertake a crazy road trip that will trace the route Vanthiyathevan, of Ponniyin Selvan, undertook. Those two friends of mine, please take note of attachment #2 – PS-Route-1.jpg, which marks leg #1 of our journey.

Alrighty then, back to the tale. A long one, I assure you.

That essentially takes care of the evenings. But the weekends. Well, they are a different story altogether. On the days I don’t travel to Madras (some of you have uncharitably accused me of bringing rains with me to Madras), I explore this festering city. Credit where credit due. Hyderabad is alive.

In the same way mold on rotten bread is alive. The same way fungi is alive. By festering. Teeming is also a good word to use here. So I shall use it. Yes, this city is teeming with people. Clueless people I might add. Possibly more densely populated than even Bombay. People on the road, people on the pavements, people on buses, people on people. My high-school English teacher thought me a phrase long time back. Like flies in a Fish market. She must surely have been thinking of Hyderabad. You can’t take two steps here without stepping on people’s toes. Literally, not figuratively speaking.

And so, it was with well placed fear that I took my bike out on Sunday to ride up to Charminar and the Salarjung Museum. In order to spend some time with my only muse – History. Let me at this point tell you that the Charminar is highly overrated. I knew what I was getting myself into. I knew that a building with four spikes in it isn’t exactly art, but even with my lowered expectation, the Charminar was a big let down. I mean seriously. And there was a damn queue to get into this blasted building whose only claim to fame are the holes in each of its walls.

So, weighing my options, I decided to quit the Salarjung museum and headed out to the Golconda Fort and the Qutb Shahi tombs. Now, a small note on forts. I am an expert on forts

I’ve seen forts in India. When I say seen, I mean explored. The Vellore fort, St. George in Madras, the Gingee fort, Tanjavur, the fort in Thirupurambiyam and some others. This has helped me form some basic conclusions about forts in general. Those are, to wit, a city usually forms around a fort. Especially if it is martial in nature. Take any modern or semi-modern city in India with a fort. It would have grown around the said fort. Bangalore, Madras, Bombay.

But Hyderabad. No. Even though the said fort is pretty historical, having been built in the 13th Century by the Kaktiyas. Later, the Qutb Shahi kings captured it, and used it as their capital. So one would assume a city that traces its name to the said Qutb Shahi kings would also grow around the fort they used and bettered. But no. The Golconda fort is about 15 kilometres away from the city. And can be described in one small word. Yuck.

Badly maintained, with cow dung and chicken droppings lining it’s wall. With the local mafia extorting money out of visitors. And this friends, is an Archaeological Survey of India protected property. No information boards, no nothing to help you. Local “guides” and cows.

So, I gave the fort a cheerful goodbye and headed to the Qutb Shahi tomb. I did this against my better sense. Two “historical masterpieces” failed to satisfy my high standards. How would a third one measure up.

But third time lucky. Now, the Qutb Shahi tombs aren’t what you might expect. They are a number of obscene shaped classic Muslim structures, which hold the mortal remains of the members of the Qutb Shahi dynasty. And what brilliant tombs they were. Fantastic. Seriously. From the bottom of my heart I can say that the dead hold more respect that those alive. Especially the remains of the dead.

Classical muslim architecture, combined with thoughtfully places gardens and even more thoughtfully placed toilets, this is one site that can rightfully claim photographer’s delight. I’ve always claimed that the interplay of light and dark are my strengths as an amateur photographer. I excelled in my own field of specialisation.

I can sincerely recommend this monument for those who want something to do in Hyderabad.

And thusly, Christmas was spent with the dead. And I returned to my humble dwellings. Returned to my little books and pathetic life.