The Unexpected Photo Shoot

"I have arrived. You can start for the airport."

"Oh, you have arrived at Columbus airport, have you? Your flight will take another hour or so I guess? I'll be there when you reach."

"Dude, I have arrived at Washington Dulles airport. From Columbus. I'm expecting you to be here now to pick me up."

"What? I thought your flight arrives at nine!"

"I messaged you on WhatsApp when I started. Didn't you see?"

"Sorry Boss. Actually a friend arrived from India suddenly on a surprise visit and we were showing her around DC. Can you wait until nine? We'll come directly to the airport from here to pick you up."

I looked at my watch. It was ten minutes past eight. If I wanted to get a cab it would not be possible before another ten minutes, so if I waited for my friend Shreevallabh, I would have to wait only about forty minutes or so. Besides, there wasn't much to do at home tonight, and tomorrow was a Sunday.

"OK. Take your time. I'm waiting."

I walked out of the plane, waited for my baggage, and then walked to the nearest exit. I was returning from a conference in Columbus, Ohio. As I settled down into a bench, my phone beeped. It was a message from Shree.

"We are on our way. You can Google for Poonam Kaur to pass the time if you are bored."

Poonam Kaur was an inside joke between me and Shree. She was a model and actress who had been in school with Shree and his wife Snehal. She had just been crowned Miss Andhra in 2005 when I and Shree both worked together in Hyderabad. At that time, he had shown me Poonam's photos and had proudly announced his childhood acquaintance with her, although he had to accept that they were out of touch for many years now. The girl was very pretty, and I had seen her photos all over the Internet over the years that followed.  I knew she was an actress now but I had not seen any of her movies because I did not understand any of the south Indian languages. And over the years, I often asked Shree about his beautiful friend. But why was Shree telling me about Poonam now? Had he forgotten that I already knew about her?

"I have Googled her much more than you have since 2005." I replied, and went back to my 2048 game.

A little after 9 o'clock, Shree's car arrived at the airport. As I climbed into the passenger seat next to Shree, I noticed there were two people sitting in the rear seat along with Snehal. "This is our school friend Suraj," said Shree, pointing to the man, "and of course, you know who she is," he said pointing to the woman, who smiled shyly at me.

Of course I knew. I should have known why Shree was asking me to Google Poonam Kaur out of the blue. I should have known when... my train of thought was interrupted by Suraj as he extended his hand to shake mine. "Shree has told us a lot about you, and we also saw your message." I wanted to sink into the ground.

All of us were hungry, so we went to an Indian place and had biryani. There, when Poonam and Snehal were fooling around at the table, taking weird selfies, I offered to click their photo with my phone. That's when Shree and Snehal told Poonam that I was a very good photographer.

Modesty is not one of my virtues, and although I still consider myself an amateur photographer, I usually make no secret of the fact that I know a little more about photography now than the average Joe with a camera. Here, however, the situation was different. Shree and Snehal were advertising my photography to a real-life model and actress who works with real photographers everyday. Photographers with full frame camera bodies and prime lenses and studio lights. "Can't they see," I thought, "how embarrassing it is even to mention my photography skills to the Poonam Kaur?"

But Poonam seemed genuinely interested. "Do you do photo shoots? What lenses do you have?" she asked. I admitted that I had done a few photo shoots with some friends, and I normally used a 50mm and a 70-300mm for portraits. "That's good enough." she said. And then, I don't remember who proposed the idea first, but the outcome was "Sugata will do a photo shoot for Poonam."

Everybody was smiling. Everybody seemed happy. Nobody saw the panic behind my smile. I felt I was about to be exposed. I was just another guy with a DSLR and some old lenses, and I was going to blow the best opportunity to come to me as a photographer.

We came back home around eleven. First we had decided to do the shoot the next morning, but then, Poonam said she was not much of a morning person, and besides, she had a flight to catch the next morning. So she asked me if I was too tired to do the shoot that night. I said I wasn't. We shot a few pictures at Shree's apartment, and then drove to the Georgetown waterfront.

That was at 1:00 a.m. For the next two hours, I was doing one of the most difficult photo shoots of my life. On one hand, Poonam is an amazingly down-to-earth person and she was very encouraging. Actually she was so comfortable with posing that she practically directed the shoot, which was a relief. On the other hand, I only had street lights and shop-window lights to shoot by, and the one thing my 2009 camera is not good at is low-light photography. Shree, Snehal and Suraj helped as much as they could, holding cellphone lights and reflectors, but in the end it was often too dark to focus with my manual lens. Since that manual lens is the only f/1.4 lens I have, I did not have any option but to use it in such low light.

Photo by Snehal

We tried different poses, different backgrounds, different outfits, and even got inside a fountain for some unusual shots. At some point during the shoot, my panic disappeared and I forgot I was photographing an actress. I was ordering her around, suggesting poses, just as  I would do to a friend. She was open to ideas, and all of us had a lot of fun the whole time.

We came home after 3:30. I wanted to look at the photos right away, but was too tired that night. I cleaned them up over the next few days and mailed them to Poonam. A lot of the photos were too blurry or too grainy. Some had shadows at weird places. Still, some had come out well, and Poonam said she wished we had more time to do a proper shoot. I felt the same way.

But whatever the quality of the photos, when I look at that folder on my laptop, I still cannot believe this really happened. I had no idea that I could ever do a photo shoot with a real actress even one hour before it happened. And as a photographer, the thing that I like most about this experience is the thought that maybe in future, when people Google for Poonam Kaur, some of the photos they find would have been taken by me.

Photo by Shreevallabh

Reporting Terrorism

"Hyderabad Horror" screamed the headline on The Times of India yesterday. It was referring to the series of bomb blasts in Hyderabad on Saturday. Whenever we have any terrorist attacks or natural disasters, the newspapers vie with each other to grab the catchiest headline (to be honest they do it for good news stories too). This practice, though it seems a bit cheap to me, is acceptable. Journalism, after all, is as much about literary prowess as it is about news.

What is not acceptable to me is the presence of colour photos of the bodies blown to smithereens on the front page. The Times of India showed bodies strewn all over the “Laserium” in Lumbini Park. My sister informs me the other papers were even worse. She had to fold up her Telegraph in reverse to avoid looking at the photo on the front page (link deliberately not provided). What made it infinitely more sickening for both of us is the thought that we were sitting together on those seats, watching that 7:30 pm laser show on a Saturday evening almost a year ago. It could have been us in those photos. Do these journalists ever pause to think that the body in the photo was somebody’s son, daughter, sibling or spouse a few hours ago? Do they ever put themselves in the shoes of the relatives? Shouldn’t the dead be given a little more privacy?

The “Laserium” in Lumbini Park is the largest laser show in the country and it attracts thousands of people everyday (This photo shows the laser show at Lumbini Park). The weekend shows are certainly packed to full capacity but luckily the place was relatively empty this Saturday due to rain. Moreover, a large part of this crowd is composed of tourists. When a terrorist organization explodes a bomb in a place like this, it is very obvious that they are aiming for maximum casualties, and they want to create panic, both among the local people and among the tourists visiting Hyderabad. When the newspapers present the news in such disgusting manner, they are actually helping the terrorists’ cause by propagating that same message of terror. If the reporters can’t put themselves in the shoes of the dead people, the readers can. I shudder to think what would have happened if all the other bombs hade gone off too, because I know just how crowded these places are. After these blasts and the previous ones a few months ago, anybody thinking of visiting Hyderabad will think twice.

I’m not saying that the news should be hushed up. On the contrary, the details are required so that we can be on our guard in future. The administration should be kept on its toes. But definitely, the line should be drawn while putting photos in the newspapers. In this case, photos of broken seats would have sufficed. The bodies weren’t needed.

The journalists' job is to present true news in a way fit for the readers. They should have remembered that those images of violence were not fit for everybody.

How business grows...!

Around a year ago, I took the photograph given below in HITEC City, Hyderabad and later I also posted it in my blog as I thought the sign, though creative, was funny because of its spelling mistakes.

A few days before leaving Hyderabad, I went to the same place again, this time at night, and I found the “mekhanic” working at the same place. The way his business has grown is amazing! Now he has a mobile phone and provides service round the clock. A look at this photo below will make things clear.

It just shows that hard work can do wonders for your business, even if you are illiterate and poor.

Welcoming the New Year Hyderabad Style

Spent the last day of 2006 away at the Ramoji Film City. Here’s a picture of the sun going down for the last time in the old year.

Was busy working on my PC last night when I was informed of the hour by the sound of people shouting and crackers going off outside. I hurriedly opened the window and saw a brilliant fireworks display in the corner of sky visible from my new room. Most of it was over by the time I could set up my camera.

I wanted to capture the first sunrise of 2007, so I woke up at 6:45 and went to the roof terrace. I did catch a late rising sun over a foggy city skyline, but it was too dim and dull for my liking.

However, on looking down towards the house opposite mine, I got the picture that really made that early waking up worthwhile.

Wish you all a very happy and prosperous 2007.

Diamonds are forever

Went to the Salar Jung Museum for fifth time yesterday and visited the Nizam's jewelry exhibition for the first time. It was stunning. There’s really no point in writing what the jewelry was like: most of it was, well… ugly.

Surprised? Let me explain. Imagine a glittering diamond the size of a green pea. Now imagine fifty of them set on a single ornament. Now imagine as many sparkling rubies or emeralds of similar size set on the same ornament. Finally, imagine a few more precious things… say fifty pearls larger than green peas set on it. Any guesses for what this thing was used for? It is an anklet, which means it would have been worn in such a way that probably it wouldn’t even be seen.

Coming back to the looks, it looks cluttered all right, maybe even ugly. But ‘awe’ is the only word that describes my emotion on seeing them. I mean just imagine! A single toe ring costs more than what I can ever dream to earn in my whole life. And I’m sure they look bad only because our tastes are developed by European teaching. Europeans never knew such wealth (the British stole the Koh-i-noor from India, remember?), so they developed notions like a single diamond looks good on a pendant. It’s a case of the sour grapes probably.

But apart from these ornaments, I saw something else at this exhibition that took my breath away. It is a diamond. The Jacob Diamond, the 20^th largest diamond in the world. It was mined in South Africa and cut in Europe. It is much larger than the famous Koh-i-noor which, incidentally, was mined near Hyderabad. Here’s an extract of what Wikipedia has to say about it:

“The Jacob Diamond is a large diamond, believed to be the same stone as the Victoria Diamond, formerly owned by the Nizam of Hyderabad and currently owned by the government of India. It has a rectangular cushion-cut diamond with 58 facets, measures 39.5 mm long, 29.25 mm wide and 22.5 mm deep. The diamond weighs 184.5 carats (36.90 g). The 6th Nizam of Hyderabad, Mahbub Ali Khan, bought the Jacob diamond around 1887. The Government of India purchased the diamond, along with other treasures of the Nizam, in 1995. Current market value of the diamond is about 400 crores (4 billion) Rupees which is roughly equivalent to 80+ million USD.”

You can read more about this diamond here.

It was kept in a black velvet showcase all by itself, mounted on a little rotating stand and illuminated by white light. The slowly rotating stone broke up the light into small coloured spots that danced around it. I was mesmerized. I was frightened. The diamond was almost beckoning me to break the glass and steal it. Although the armed guards prevented me from doing any such thing, yesterday I realized why there are so many murders in the history of such diamonds. It is nothing strange that men would kill to possess a stone like this. Also, it is quite expected that myths will surround such stones, myths that state that the gem is unlucky for the owner. Indeed, how can such a thing be lucky for the owner if he is likely to be murdered or get bankrupted for it?

What is odd, however, is the fact that the man who owned this particular diamond used it as a paperweight. Truth really is often stranger than fiction.

Revisiting Hyderabad

Exactly one year has passed since the day when I came to this city. I stayed here all the time except for a few brief visits here and there. So why this "revisiting" thing? Actually my sister visited me in Hyderabad this week, and I traveled with her all over the city again. My one year’s worth of sightseeing (and more) condensed into four days. I even saw things which I had not seen before. Since we IT professionals here live mostly in a shell, working throughout the week and too tired to go out if we have no work on weekends, it seemed as if I was living in a separate world within Hyderabad. A world where we only know about software and coding and testing and projects. It was nice to visit the other Hyderabad for these four days.

And we saw a lot. I took my sister to Hussain Sagar, to the multimedia laser show in Lumbini Park, to Salar Jung and Charminar. When I had visited Salar Jung the first time, one year ago, I had formed this desire of revisiting it with my art-loving sister. Finally it was fulfilled. The laser show was something that I too saw for the first time. It was a nice new experience. We visited Birla Mandir in the afternoon, when the stone floor felt like an enormous frying pan to our bare feet. It was a memorable experience no doubt, but one that I would rather not have again. We visited Hitec City, which is very close to my apartment. We also saw Superman Returns in IMAX 3D. This was the first time that I saw a (partly) 3D movie in the IMAX. While the movie as a whole was not really up to my expectations, the special effects and the 3D scenes were good enough. After that we strolled along the necklace road, while munching on roasted maize and looking at distant lightning over the lake.

But the best part of our sightseeing was the visit to Golkonda fort on the last day. I had visited Golkonda once before, but did not have the time to climb all the way to the top. This time we went right up to the Baradari, 373 stone steps above the ground. The view of the city and the setting sun from the top was more than worth the climb. Then we spent an hour in the glorious past of Golkonda by watching the sound and light show before returning home.

These four days were remarkable, for although we were traveling from morning to night (and much of the time on foot), instead of getting tired I got wonderfully refreshed. And along with that, I rediscovered Hyderabad. I found that Hyderabad is not all Cyberabad. There is a part of the city that lies quite oblivious to the IT boom. There is the 440 year old Hussain Sagar, calm and serene as the Buddha statue in its middle. There is the Salar Jung, with its timeless treasures. There is the Charminar and the bangle market under it, exactly like that from times immemorial. And then there is Golkonda, where time has stopped moving long ago. We only need to open our eyes and see. We only need to spend some time to understand our history.

In the last one year, I went to Mumbai and Pune, just for traveling. But after this “revisit” to Hyderabad, I realized that I have much to see here. To quote Rabindranath Tagore:

Bohu din dhore, bohu krosh dure,
bohu byay kori, bohu desh ghure,
Dekhite giyachhi parbotmala, dekhite giyachhi sindhu,
Dekha hoy nai chokkhu meliya,
Ghar hote shudhu dui pa feliya,
Ekti dhaner shisher upore ekti shishir bindu.

Which can be roughly translated as:

I traveled miles, for many a year,
I spent a lot in lands afar,
I’ve gone to see the mountains, the oceans I’ve been to view.
But I haven’t seen with these eyes
Just two steps from my home lies
On a sheaf of paddy grain, a glistening drop of dew.

I’m not going to leave Hyderabad before I’m done with all the dewdrops around this place. There’s lot more to see. I have wasted the last one year, but I’ll not waste the next.

Living in cages

It's a strange feeling... wanting to blog but being unable to find the time to write a post.

Anyway, thought I'd share this photo (click to enlarge) until I find time to write a proper post. These are flats in an important locality of Hyderabad. But do these balconies really look like bird cages or is it just a figment of my crooked imagination? And people have to pay hefty amounts to own these?
Noticed them in my first week in Hyderabad but had to wait this long to manage a photo.

[Thanks to KM, found this article on the Internet about the ugliness of modern Indian architecture. It is a beautiful read.]

The Pyramid Builders

[I am visiting my hometown for a week and so have very limited access to the Internet. I'm posting this blog here in Hooghly. Naturally, I had to be content with a small piece of writing. And also naturally, just like I often write about Hooghly when I post from Hyderabad, this post is about Hyderabad since I'm writing from Hooghly.]
I watched a documentary called The Pyramid Builders on National Geographic Channel sometime ago. It showed the workers' huts that had been found near the Great Pyramids of Giza. These were the people who built the timeless Pyramids, and were very proud of their work. Their skill is, of course, evident from their work which still survives today.
This is the only analogy that came to my mind as I looked out from my terrace the other day. Here, in Hi-Tech City, Hyderabad, construction work never stops. Something or the other is being built all the time, be it a high capacity office building or a big block of flats. And just below the modern high rises, what do you see? Yes, slums. Those are the living quarters of the people who build some of the most luxurious apartments and offices in the country.
Most of them are outsiders. I have heard them speak, and was surprised to find that an overwhelmingly large number of them come from West Bengal and Orissa. Ironically, the IT industry in Hyderabad also has a very large number of professionals from these states.
As I walk down the road in front of those slums every day, I watch their lifestyle quite closely. They keep pet fowl, and have facilities like under-tree hair-cutting salons and STD phone booths in the slum. The children swing on swings made of cloth and old rubber tyres hung from the tree branches and play in the dirt.
The Egypt simile may seem far fetched. The buildings these people make won't last four thousand years. And their own dwellings? Those will be gone as soon as their work here is done. Then they will dismantle their huts and go to build houses at some other part of the city. Houses where they can't even dream of living. Just as the pyramid builders could never think of pyramids for themselves and were buried in ordinary cemetaries. Has the situation really changed much in the last four millenia?

Love at first sight

I always held a strong opinion about love at first sight. I argued that such a phenomenon does not exist outside movies. Then I saw her, and my strong opinion was proved wrong in an instant.

She was standing in front of a mirror, wearing a flowing dress, her face turned to one side and she was looking down. A transparent veil was drawn over her face and body, but her beautiful face was plainly visible through that veil. When I saw her first, I was out of words. How could one be so beautiful? As the day progressed, I returned again and again to that same room with the mirror, to stand and gaze at her face. She did not move away, because she was rooted to that spot, literally!

Yes, I’m talking about the Veiled Rebecca, an amazing marble statue by Italian sculptor Benzoni, the most beautiful sculpture that I have seen in my life. Not that I have seen many, but I have at least seen some detailed photographs of world famous sculptures. I can say that this statue is as good as, if not better than them. It may not have the anatomical perfection of David and Venus, or the elaborate details of Moses and Pieta, but Rebecca’s simple veil beats them all… a transparent veil made of opaque stone. And as you are looking at it, you suddenly realize that you have forgotten that the veil is made of marble. Unfortunately I couldn’t find any good pictures of this statue on the Internet, so you have to see it yourself to understand what I mean.

But this post is not about Rebecca only. There’s much more to write about. Only I didn’t know where to start.

On my first Saturday in Hyderabad, I went to the Salar Jung Museum with two of my friends. It is a museum which houses works of art collected almost entirely by one person. I like works of art, so that was the first place I wanted to visit in Hyderabad. However, after going through the first few galleries, while I was speechless, both my friends got bored to death. One of them plainly said so to someone on the phone (yes, he was talking on the cell phone most of the time!), and the other one was more diplomatic and said he could not appreciate so much art in a single day. When they saw at the lunch time that the food at the museum cafeteria was not very good, they said they couldn’t stay there any longer. I could have done very well with that food, or even without food for that matter, for eating meant wasting time when you are in a building that can be called the Louvre of India. Bowing to public pressure, I had to leave that day, but I returned the next day. Alone. And I spent the whole day there, only to understand that I would have to return again and again to appreciate the whole thing.

For most people, and especially children, the biggest attraction of the museum is a large clock that is kept in the courtyard. Every second is marked by a small figure of a blacksmith hammering away. Every hour a door opens and another figure comes out. He strikes the hour on a gong with his hammer and goes back in. There are beautiful paintings, sculptures, exquisitely carved furniture, delicate ornamental crockery, arms, garments, books, clocks and watches, mirrors, embroidery, carpets, cutlery, dolls, stuffed birds, jewels… the list is endless. And these things are from all over the world. There are entire rooms dedicated to single countries like Japan, China, France and Egypt. The European gallery has a beautiful wooden statue that is a double figure representing Mephistopheles on one side and Margaretta on the other. This is also kept in front of a mirror.

The Salar Jung is a huge building as can be seen in this picture from Google Earth. By the end of the day my legs were refusing to carry me, and I was sitting down frequently on the seats that they have very wisely put all over the place. At this time I realized that it was really difficult to take in so much art at one go, because I found my attention drifting. While looking at one exhibit I was thinking about the previous one. And this was happening in spite of the fact that one section was closed for renovation. I returned several times to stand and stare at Rebecca, of course, and I watched that clock strike every hour from ten to four.

Finally, it was time to leave. It had been a memorable day. I plan to go there again, because one and a half days are too less to see Salar Jung. If I have not gone there again in the last seven months, it is only because I did not find a like-minded person to go with. What is the use of looking at something beautiful if I can’t call my companions and point it out to them? But I’ll definitely go there soon, even if I have to go alone again.

Because I find I have spent quite a lot of time in this city without seeing her. I can’t endure it much longer.

[Author's note added later: After reading this post my friend Abhijit posted this on his blog.]

An unusual experience

I am writing this post because if I don’t, it will be unfair. So many people write about the inefficiency and rudeness of government employees. I have done it so many times myself… discussed with friends that the government employees are all lazy. They are not concerned about the business, so they do not need to be polite towards the customers. Today, however, I found that there are at least some government employees who are trying to prove us wrong. People who are doing their work properly.

Most importantly, they are doing it with a smile.

I’m referring to the staff at the Cyberabad post office.

I was supposed to get a letter from my father by speed post a few days ago. When that did not arrive, I took the docket number from my father on phone and went to inquire at the post office today. I have office five days a week, so Saturday morning is the only time when I can go to the post office. Or so I thought before going there.

On reaching the post office, I was told to go and meet the post master. He offered me a seat and punched the docket number into his PC. The output said that the letter had been delivered ten days ago. Going by the prevailing market standards, I expected him to do this much and no more. But he called someone and told him to find out the copies of the records for that day. These records indicated that the letter had indeed been delivered. However, I could not be sure because working in the typical Indian style, the postman had not obtained a signature of the receiver on the copy (to be completely fair, this tendency of not adhering to the minor rules is seen throughout India in private and public sector concerns alike). The post master then requested me to ask my watchman and make sure that the letter had not been received by him.

The watchman, of course, vehemently denied receiving any such letter, and miraculously, his Hindi-speaking skills suddenly disappeared at this point of time. Since I haven’t learnt enough Telugu to speak sensibly yet, I gave up cross questioning him and returned to the post office.

This time the post master again told me to sit and wait for the postman. When the postman came, he asked him about the letter. The postman couldn’t remember much, of course. So he noted down the docket number, and told me to come on Wednesday. He would fetch the original records from the General Post Office by then. That would contain the signature of the receiver.

This presented another problem. When would I come on Wednesday? I had office. On being asked this, they said, “No problem sir, you can come in the evening. When does your office end?” I said it would not be possible as my office hours ended at six. “No problem sir, we stay open till ten in the night!” was the reply. I was so astonished at this that all I could do was to thank the post master and come back.

I don’t think I’ll get my letter back, because I have a hunch that the watchman received it and then lost it. I don’t know whether those people will really remember to get that record on Wednesday. But even if they don’t bring it, whatever they did today was beyond anything that I would have thought possible in a government office in India. And their behavior was amazing. It was good to see that there are still some government employees who treat their customers at least like fellow human beings. And I can say with absolute certainty that I have never seen such nice behavior at any post office that I have visited in Allahabad, Hooghly or Kolkata.

That is why I felt I must write about this. The media usually highlights only the bad side of the story. Because of that, a few good people like these post office employees of Cyberabad or the bus conductors of Hyderabad or even the policemen of this city, who are very well behaved, get discouraged. So it was my duty to laud their efforts, even if only through this little-read blog.

Hyderabad: Through the eyes of a North Indian

The cultural difference between the northern and the southern states of India is so huge that anyone arriving at one part from the other will feel as if in a foreign country. For me, however, the arrival at Hyderabad was quite the opposite experience. I felt I was back at home. Reason? Simple. I was coming after spending two months in Chennai.
The sound of people speaking Hindi was music to my ears. You have a better chance of hearing a cuckoo in winter than a person speaking Hindi in Chennai. Then there were the signs. From advertising billboards to street directions, everything in Chennai is Tamil. Most of it, in any case. The little that isn’t Tamil is English. Hindi? Whoever’s heard of such a language? Even the well recognized brands like Coca Cola, ICICI Bank or Pizza Hut had their hoardings in Tamil. But here in Hyderabad, although Telugu has an edge, Hindi and English signs can be seen all around.
Anyway, I don’t intend to compare Chennai and Hyderabad here: that’s a comparison that I have to make too frequently these days. Instead, I’ll describe a few things that I, as a Bengali who has grown up in UP, finds unusual.
The first thing that struck me on arriving here was the traffic. I mean in a figurative sense, of course! At first sight, the traffic here seemed to be chaotic to the nth degree. However, a closer study over the next few days revealed that there are two simple road rules in Hyderabad. Follow them, and you can survive here. They are:

1 Drivers’ rule: The road is meant for driving, and has space for everybody. It is quite wide, and has two lanes, and two pavements. So drive where you please, as you please. No side is wrong side. While overtaking, the left is as right as the right. As long as you don’t crush people, you can’t do anything wrong. Which brings us to the second rule…

2 Pedestrians’ rule: Want to cross the street? Go ahead and do it. What’s the use of dilly-dallying on the sidelines? No need to see if the road is clear, because it will never be. It’s the drivers’ responsibility to see that you don’t get crushed. Just do it.

So a person riding his motorbike on the wrong side footpath may seem odd in other cities, but not in Hyderabad. Here it is as normal as cars taking U-turns on flyovers, or passing through a red light at forty miles an hour. I haven't been able to get used to these rules, especially rule 2. The problem is, when I get used to it, I'll become vulnerable in any other unruly city.
Enough on traffic. Let’s move on to the second thing that bowled me over. It was the food. After spending two months in Chennai, I was of the opinion that I can endure any kind of food. And Hyderabad is famous for some dishes. So imagine my shock when I couldn’t finish my lunch on the first day because it was too hot and spicy. Next day I was cleverer, so I ordered only curd rice. The curd rice arrived, full of finely chopped coriander leaves and green chilies. After eating a few spoonfuls, I surrendered. Since then I’ve found it easier to learn cooking (via email from my mom) and I prefer to taste my own culinary misadventures rather than someone else’s. if we keep aside the slightly disturbing fact that over the last six months four people have left our flat and another one has gone on a diet, I am quite satisfied with my cooking skills. Also, everything in Hyderabad has a sour taste. Everything except the water they put in the phuchkas (That's the bengali name for pani puris, or gol-gappas, as you better know them). That water is pure sweet in taste. No wonder I'm living without phuchkas for the last six months!
Another thing that’s worth mentioning is the Hyderabad rickshaws. If I find the man who designed them, I'd surely reward him for innovative design. Their seats are about six inches higher than their footrests. So you have to virtually squat when you sit on one of those (I haven’t had the chance yet). Imagine doing that wearing a skin-tight jeans or well ironed suit. I think further comments are unnecessary. Each auto rickshaw driver of Hyderabad is very sincerely trying to get his name in the Guiness Book of World Records for carrying the maximum number of passengers at once. So while an unambitious auto driver carries only three people in the rear and two (excluding himslf) in front, the more talented ones do not start their vehicles without four in the backseat, four in the front seat and a guy or two hanging from either side.
The people of Hyderabad are quite nice. Here I saw lady bus conductors for the first time. All bus conductors' behaviour here is exemplary regardless of their sex. The bus conductors of Delhi and Kolkata can really learn a lesson or two from their Hyderabad counterparts. Here, the same route bus comes in three categories... Metro Express, Metro Liner and Ordinary. Although they follow the same route, their comfort, speed and number of stops varies according to their category. Needless to say, speed and comfort comes at an extra cost.
Hyderabad is a large city, and it won't be possible to describe everything of this place in a single post. I'll be writing about different aspects of this city, maybe in some other post, but before I end, I'd like to narrate this small incident. I was buying vegetables from a small temporary shop in our locality. I tried to know the prices by asking the shopkeeper lady,"Gobi kitna? Gajar kitna?" and so on. She responded by saying, "Cabbage 8 rupees sir, and carrots 6 rupees a kilo." Well, English-speaking green-grocers are not among people whom you meet everyday in the North. Hats off to Hyderabad!