notes from a fort

What would we do without the genorosity of kind autodrivers? They who accept to take us around the city  sometimes dropping us right at our house. If you have luggage to tug around they might even help you out by carrying your luggage with you. IN THE SAME AUTO! So what if they charge a modest fee for these services, you musnt mistake this to be business, it is public service for a fee!

Many of us misunderstand auto drivers. Take for instance this incident I saw yesterday.

Four foreigners come out of a famous institute in Hyderabad. They look around and approach a line of autos in an auto stand. One kind man is busy with his gutka, a pre-occupation that is of singular importance. The girls (didnt I mention these foreigners were girls!) wait for him to finish the ritual of crushing the gutka and placing the powder between his stained teeth. He then agrees to listen to them and replies with a number. The girls look shocked. They approach another man in the line. At this the first man, his sensitivity hurt screams to his peers who laugh. Those mild natured foreigners are worried. They unnecessarily sense trouble and begin to move away. A beggar approaches the auto-driver. He directs him to the foreigners - rich bastards that they are. Last I saw the girls were being chased away by our insistent beggars. 

Such avoidable misunderstanding! Why dont passengers see that the "for-hire" on the auto is just a legal necessity. No one, not the government, nor the legal system takes it seriously. Then why do passengers? Why assume such a thing and get hurt? It is best to petition the kind autodrivers. The exchange should be something like this:

 "Kind sir Autodriver... Is it ok if I approach you?" 

"Sure"

"Sir Owner of the yellow automotive, thy vehicle is all powerful. Kings Pay obsequiousness to it... knights in time past would die to ride such a powerful creature... your kindness is immeasurable.”

“Such is true. That is why everyone from Balakrishna to Rajnikanth has portrayed us.”

“Kind sir... could I be bold enough to ride in this yellow chariot. I wish to go to the secunderabad station.”

“Isnt it a little out of my way?”

“Of-course it is... dear sir... but off-course it is.... such imprudence on my part. Thy exalted feet could not possibly stray towards such bourgeois locations. No. Never.”

At this, like with every conversation with an auto-driver, you must bow and walk away. Take care never to show him your back. If you are lucky, he will call you.

Blessed be our autodrivers.

 

 

I am sitting here waiting for my order to arrive: slow cooked chicken marinaded all night long in curd and tossed into a bowl of warm rice and served with the leg sticking out. It arrives in a copper bottomed vessel, I take a swoop of rice, tear a piece of chicken from the bone and mix it with the Mirchi Ka Salan tasting its dry peanut taste over the spices taking care never to wash it down with cool drinks. No, for the Hyderabadi Chicken Biryani, its just ice cold water sweating it out on the table.  

I can never hurry through a Biryani. Perhaps its the effect of reading, years before, of the soldier's meal. During those days when wars were separated by yawning days of long marches, waiting for the enemy to make the first move or laying siege to an unfortunate citadel, the troops carried with them large cauldrons simmering with slow cooked biryani. If it was the traditional dum style, for we can never be sure of this, the cauldrons must have been sealed shut by large rings of dough. Under this dome was piled alternatively a layer of meat followed by a layer of rice half boiled in saffron infused water, until it touched the top. The cauldrons could never be heated directly because too much heat could burn away the subtle infusions, they were inturn placed in larger vessels. If the army was on move, this entire contraption was placed on an elephants back.

I pour out a little bit of the raita in my plate and let the rice soak it in. The curd in the raita cuts the sharpness of the spices. For folks with less sturdy bellies I have often recommended this way of enjoying a Biryani. However, I would never visit any over ethusiastic restaurant that was easy on spices in the Biryani. That’s often the case in places that serve westners: as if that race of mankind ever spiced up their cheese burger for a visiting Indian in Dallas. We need no apologies, neither does our food. 

Perhpas the authentic hyderabadi biryani is long lost. But if it isnt, it is hiding somewhere in the old city where I have tasted the Biryani of the nawabs. In it is the right balance between spice and moderation that could never have been a sell out. Perhaps a legacy of the Bidari Bahamanis or the Bijapuri Sultans whose fat portraits can be understood by the Biryani, or may be the pakwaan from the house of one of those 10,000 courtesans who apparently dotted Qutub shahi Hyderabad. In the old city the Biryani must never be had without this inquisitiveness. 

The one I am having in Paradise is a product of Secunderabad. There is the taste of the working class, rice more plain at top and the mix stronger at the bottom. I am here for nostalgic reasons but if you accuse it of being the McDonalds of Biryani, good but impersonal, I'll have to agree. But hell... is it good!  The other representation of this kind is at Bawarchi, Biryani made purely for lust - with too much rice and too strong a mix. This is the Biryani for adolescents. 

Its tough to be away from this taste. Once on a visit to New Jersey I was told of a "Paradise" there that sold Hyderabadi Biryani. Its my experience of a mirage in the desert. I should have known what to expect when I saw Amitabh Bachchan and Tabu argue about Cheeni in Asli Hyderabadi Zafrani Biryani. Either I have never had biryani properly or the taste of sugar is so faint that only a masterchef and his girlfriend can zero in on an argument about it.

Its done now. In tough times of choice I have defined a good Hyderabadi Biryani as one that finishes just ahead of your appetite. The slender chicken bones must be cleaned of meat, the Mirchi Ka Salan squeezed out and the bowl of rice double checked for remnants. That is when you have done good by the Biryani. 

 

Here's a list of complaints I have heard about Hyderabadis.

Lazy: The first thing that hits them. The hyderabadi will for leisure. I am told that even money cant get us going. Maids dont care, Auto drivers dont bother. Its supposed to be rude and its supposed to be inherent.

Lousy Drivers: The best form of speed control is a hyderabadi two wheeler. Each time the new comers assume precedence on the road the hyderabadi driver who has just emerged on from the side lane will inch closer, onto his way, closer still, until anyone who doesnt want a collison will give up and break. Then we pass.

Zero Culture: Now this is hard to take. Delhi has its round of cultural activities - plays, music! Apparently they are everywhere and all you have to do is emerge from your house and culture drops onto you. What happens here - a random act in HIFT or Ravindra Bharati?

No History: This be a long post of its own. Isnt hyderabad really a dimunituve of cyberabad? The hitec city is your city's ancinet symbol right? Where are the sites of ancient battles, evidence of kings?

Food: Over-rated. They'll give us Biryani, yes, but everything else is smothered in chilli. Dosas are better in Chennai, Butter Chicken in Punjab.

Fashion: Always late. Yesterdays summer collection. Nah... we are stuck a decade behind. Case in point: have you looked at the Telugu film posters of late?

Weather: Cant make up its mind. Summer isnt counted -  its not Hyderabadi, its Indian. A national property - never meant to be federal. Winters dont bite and the rains dont help.

Roads: A mirage. Somewhere outside the city is a road that is oh so smooth and oh so fast you will trip. It begins there because no one can spoil it by using it. 

This be the place we take the above accussed unique perspective to speak.