Nikal re, mian?
I am moving cities. In a week’s time, I’ll be saying sayonara to Hyderabad after having lived here for more than 20 years. Sure, I went away for a couple of years in the early nought’s, but I never felt that I’d left the city. I always knew I’d come back. But it feels different this time. It feels that when I drive out over the Lakdi-Ka Pul, the bridge’ll collapse and I’ll have no choice but to keep heading straight.
When I first arrived here in the late eighties, it was a lazy little city (it still is!) with green avenues and wide roads. Begumpet was a cozy residential area, Ameerpet still had a Gold Spot bottling factory and Kacheguda was the end of the city. I loved the smell of it - the tang of tamarind, the gentleness of saffron, the pungency of chillies and the slightly odious draft from the Musi. I grew up here. I ran away from home when here. I made tens of lakhs of rupees here. I lost all that here. I feel in love here. I kissed the woman of my dreams watching the moon shimmer over the lake. I saw her die here. I tried to kill myself here. I survived here.
Pico Iyer once said that certain cities draw you into their souls and never let you out. You become one with the city. You are but a reflection of the place and the place is but a reflection of you. And so it is for Hyderabad and me.
Khuda Hafiz.
