Picture of sun setting at Gandipet. Taken from the top of CDFD Students' hostel. Well that was an age ago when the campus was still in Gandipet
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Hyderabad: The Recipe
And when, in the smouldering cauldron of April Musi sizzles like Ghee and the tendrils of Nastaliq caramelize issuing the aroma of Dakkani , add the oblongs of cumin till you hear the crackle of names: " Ghode ki kabar ", strew in the petals of a star anise till you hear the blooming of Azaan from Jama Masjid , and stir in the peeling stuccos of cinnamon till you hear the rustle of old book market in Abids . Now, toss in the marinated viscera of the city, the arcades Chowmahalla and the sinews of Begum Bazaar, the marrow of ancient alleys winding through Charminar. Finally, slide your hands into a casket of anima, find the longest grains of Basmati, layer carefully the folds of time: first Kakatiya , then Bahmani , followed by Qutub Shahi and on the top Asaf Jahi . And there! you have the recipe of a city.
The Receding Tide
In the moments before waking when the city was weaving dreams of concrete, the tide of the night receded and left in its wake creatures of the deep, forms from the void. On the sidewalk an oyster lay unopened, preserving a drifting dream from a land alien. The blanket in its filigree had trapped the night just enough for a home to thrive. A sardine gasped for breath in the last puddle of darkness on the pavement. Through the rancid stream of traffic had she waded in the night to sell the ministrations of love, And now she was exhausted. Two stumps for feet, the Barnacle, clung to the uninviting shop front. The incoming tide of day, promised salvation. For with the alms from the gratuitously generous could he unleash the stupefaction of the night, stacked in the bottles behind him.
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