Hyderabad diary

Weather gods get angrier by the hour; ‘la-Mercury-sans-merci’ goes up north a notch or two every day; and what in March was a benign welcoming smile on the round resplendent face of Phoebus gives way to deepening frown dawn after dawn. Misty greyness shrouds the view. Sky has a grey countenance too, and looks languorous. The air gets hotter. Fans whir at greater speeds.  ACs get busier.

This in short is my latest weather diary of Hyderabad.

How is life like in an apartment perched up high on the 13^th, and now the 22^nd floor of a high-rise where we have recently shifted?

As soon as ‘la-belle-dame’ dawn bids adieu, taking away the soothing quietude, and the sun-god clambers up in its fiery robes, human noises begin taking over. As school children finger-held by their multi-tasking indulgent Mums and Dads hurry for the school bus, life seems to switch gears bracing up to yet another rigmarole of the day’s trudge and toil. That’s all fine. We are all addicts to post dawn routines in our own special little ways in this big world. But what was most off-putting in the old society was the man-invented ‘machine’. As soon as I would summon my depleting wits – (do wits/brains and testosterone have a shared destiny; how come that both ebb or rise simultaneously like inextricably conjoined twins!?) –  to begin my ‘wordsmithy’, the machine(s) would take over as if the whole world is its alone. No, I am not speaking of the washing machines, the dishwashers, ovens or the mixies. It is something more infernal: the tile-cutters, the drills and the carpenter’s expansive tool-kit. From left and right, above and below, far and near sharp, soul-searing noises would come piercing the walls and continue till the day’s end.  The fine dust would sneak inside and settle on you, on books, the desk and every available surface as a parting gift.

Therefore, though house-shifting is never an enjoyable task, particularly a repeat one just after a month, our daughter-in-law, a stickler for the ‘best always’, went into a sulk, lost appetite, good sleep and even her usual cheer. And therefore the shift happened. Who said woman is a weaker sex?

Now, here on the 22nd floor –  near the heavens almost – life is hugely better if not altogether heavenly. What I adore the most is the small balcony facing north (towards my homeland!) and the great view it affords. There is a rocky, tree & scrub-studded swathe of earth cutting a fairly large arc stretched across, below. It is home to our avian friends big and small and also a ‘VIP’ resident to add to its value and beauty: His majesty, the Peacock. Can you believe that in a city like Hyderabad I am able to see ‘Mayurs’ almost daily strutting about languorously in this patch of green? … And also an occasional sight of amorous Miyaan ji flaunting its fabulous, fan-like tail and dancing its own Bharatnatyam to woo the Begum Sahiba? Also, it is quieter here, and thank heavens, no drills, hammers and saws…

Well, I had fancied spending a rewarding day at the iconic Salar Jung museum, a drive to the historic Charminar and Golconda fort, a mouthful of ‘Haleem’ for my insatiable, age-defying palate, but couldn’t. Distance, unkind sun, packed Iftar crowds at the old eateries, and above all, weak knees and wobbly legs together conspired against me. Therefore, humming a consolation Rudolph song “There’s always tomorrow for dreams to come true…” I am now back in my rather un-April like, January-faced, July-robed tea-capital Palampur, slurping April-tod tea!

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