MaiN Hyderabad MeN HuN

Well, I'm back in India almost a year after I left. What has changed? The new airport. What hasn't changed? Everything else.

When I arrived, I was first off the plane thanks to my business class seat and ran as fast as I could to customs. Having spent the last 24 hours planning my strategy to not get stuck in the customs line for 2 hours, I wasn't going to let anything stop me from getting there first. I was done in 5 minutes and out the door of the airport in another 5 since I didn't check any luggage (in order to avoid the hour long wait for the bags to come out on the carousel, I managed to stuff everything into a briefcase and a small duffel bag).

As I walked down the stairs, a cleaning boy stared at me, turning his head to keep staring while he tried walking up the stairs, and suddenly (but not unexpectedly) tripped and fell. He kept staring. Then the 8 people working at the duty free shop in the empty airport and wearing spiffy uniforms mistook my glance for interest and called 'madame, madame...duty free? Many nice things to choose!' and I knew I was back in India.

Then I walked outside, breathed in the Hyderabad air that smells like a mix of smoke, incense and humidity, and recognized my driver right away. He also recognized me, a year later. Daram Chand is one of the Hindi-speaking Muslim drivers who I rode with half a dozen times over the 6 months I was here, and I am quite sure he didn't realize that I had ever left.

That is how time works here. It is as if time itself has slowed down to a snail's pace. Even with all of the development that has been rampant, Hyderabad is exactly the same as it was. The same potholed streets are packed full of people and traffic, sputting auto-rickshaws, sputting mopeds with families of 6 riding on them, papaya and lime stands, posters for local politicians, water buffalo, garbage-eating goats, stray dogs, workers carrying rocks on their heads, and the same beggar children who are so mal-nourished that they haven't grown since last year.

Bharat sthan bahoot dilcasp hai.


I went shopping yesterday and used my Hindi to get bargains that even impressed my driver and caused the salesman to bob his head even more virulently than normal. My exchange went something like this:

Goal: 250 each per pashmina.

Me: How Much?
Him: 750 Rupees ($15)
Me: (extreme laughter) Asli ki math kya hai? NahiN firangi Math, Hindustani Math. (No really, how much? Not foreign price, Indian price)
Him: (surprised laughter) You tell me your price.
Me: 100 rupees
Him: 100 rupees! This is 750 rupees!
Me: This is not 750 rupees! I got it for 90 rupees at Charminar!
Him: Charminar! This is not Charminar.
Me: (look in the eye, very serious) MaiN Hyderabad MeN paNch mahine reheti thi. Mujhe maloom hai ki dam nahiN sahiN hai.
(I lived in Hyderabad for 5 months. I know that this is not the best price).
Him: Ok, you tell me.
Me: 100
Him: 600
(10 minutes of numbers)
Him: 300. Final price. Not profit for me. I give to you, no profit.
Me: 2 for 400.
Him: 2 for 600
Me: That's the same as 300 each. I offer you 200 each. 2 for 400.
Him: (head shaking wildly) 250 each.
Me: Calega. (agreed)
750 -> 250 ($15 -> $6.25).


I went to dinner with Shyam, a home-grown Hyderabadi Telugu guy who I used to sit next to in the office. He was one of the first people in the Hyderabad office and I love talking to him about India.

We went to Serengeti, my favorite restaurant in Hyderabad, that happens to have a jungle theme, think 'Rainforest Cafe' except with Indian food and 2-3 waiters hovering around your table at all times waiting for you to look like you may possibly be finished eating your bite of food so that they can serve another scoop to you.

One of the most amusing things about Serengeti was that the waiters used to be dressed up like African guerillas in army fatigues - a costume so politically incorrect in so many ways - and they clearly had no idea what they were wearing and why. Sadly, someone must have pointed this fact out to them within the last year and they have changed their uniforms to be British imperialists in khaki jungle uniforms. The irony of this new uniform choice is possibly more amusing than the guerilla uniforms, since I'm pretty sure most people who go to this restaurant know what British imperialists uniforms look like, seeing as they are the uniforms the Brits wore while imperializing India.

In a moment reminiscent of the imperial era, when we left the restaurant, the valet opened the back door of Shyam's car for me...meaning that he assumed that Shyam was my driver. I said, 'Oh no, I'll be sitting up front thanks' he shrugged and bobbed his head. Modern India is a complicated place.


I am currently enjoying the entertainment of the Star Movies channel 'India's most popular English movie channel.' Star is a conglomerate that owns several channels including a new addition 'Star Cricket' ('All cricket all the time!'). The movie channel generally buys the cheapest English language movies available on the planet and advertises them as if they are good movies. I'm currently watching a made-for-TV movie called 'Dino-Croc' about a genetically engineered monster crocodile that accidentally gets set loose in a nature preserve in LA. A small boy has just snuck onto the nature preserve to find his dog and is being chased by the monster crocodile while a dramatic rendition of the choral finale of Carmina Burana plays. Run little Jimmy, Run!