Or so it was until some time ago. I went to the one at Lifestyle this morning, and believe me , I really do not want to step into another Café Coffee Day again. The first thing that put us off( my friend and I) was the total indifference. We had to call out nearly four times so that he may come take our order. When we asked for cold coffee, he replied nonchalantly that they didn’t have any ice. Having no other go, we ordered hot coffee and cookies. Our cookies came to us in a packet. I mean, couldn’t they have placed it on a tray?And our coffee came to us after 25 minutes.This, when there were not even too many people around. After the coffee which was not even very hot( or good), we felt slightly hungry. So we asked him for the menu. The guy promptly got us the bill!!!! I mean, this is basic courtesy! We decided against having anything more and just left.

This is not the first time we’ve had a bad experience at a Coffee Day.The last time we went to the one near Anand( about three weeks ago), they forgot to bill us! And the coffee was extremely bad. Even the ‘Kaapi Nirvana’, which is their prize-winning coffee recipe, tastes very ordinary. The ‘zing’that it used to have is simply not there.
The attitude of indifference is apparent.

It is time they did something about it.

Then I glanced up and saw a pair of kites, red with long blue tails, soaring in the sky. They danced high above the trees on the west end of the park, over the windmills [....] And suddenly, Hassan’s voice whispered in my head: For you, a thousand times over. Hassan, the harelipped kite runner.

Right from page one, the book has you hooked. Not so much in terms of style, but definitely with its honesty.What amazed me the most was the remarkable ease with which the author changes tone and mood. Sometimes there is a total change in feel with just one line. While describing Hassan and Amir’s childhood together, there is a distinct childishness to the emotions felt and expressed. And then you see a very conspicuous shift in values, thoughts; as they grow older.

To this day, I find it hard to gaze directly at people like Hassan, people who mean every word they say. [.....]. And that’s the thing about people who mean everything they say. They think everyone else does too.

While you start out hating the protaganist for his ‘cowardice’, you later realise how strong his conscience is, to remember it all his life and make amends for it, however small. I identified the most with him, though. The same selfishness, the same cowardice, the same emotionality. The book is speckled with beautiful insights like the one above, which I’d call nothing short of awesome.

Make morning into a key and throw it into the well,
go slowly, my lovely moon, go slowly.
Let the morning sun forget to rise in the east,
go slowly, my lovely moon, go slowly.

As you read, you get a glimpse into how life was in Afghanistan, but it is not overly dramatised or exaggerated. It is a perception, a genuine one, of life then, and perceptions can never be dramatic or ugly. It is this refreshing honesty which keeps you hooked till the last page. Not a single line is out of place. Not a single emotion overplayed. It is what I would call a ‘clean’ style. No unnecessary adornments, no extra frills.

Every woman needed a husband. Even if he did silence the song in her.

The Kite Runner has tantalising amounts of exoticism and sensousness woven into it. You can actually see Hassan running the kite, and feel the sand on his feet. You can hear their voices and taste the pomegranates they eat. It is all alive, vibrant. Not just words, but a whole life stitched along with them. It brought back my past, of kites and Sankranthi, of guilt and happiness. It moved me. I am sure it will move you too.

“Do you want me to run that kite for you?”
“For you, a thousand times over.”

For you, a thousand times over.

I get my glass of water with a pleasant smile and a courteous nod. Raju gives me company on the bus everyday. Helping with handing around glasses of water, and keeping an eye on the road for the driver, Raju does his job very well. Always smiling and always ready for conversation.

Today, too, with both of us in extremely talkative moods, we managed to exchange quite a lot of information. Raju comes from Kurnool, a town near Mantralayam ( Yes, I know, my geography is bad, but I am relating to it in terms of places I know :)..). He had been working for A.Nageswara Rao, he tells me. My curiosity is piqued. I ask more questions, what kind of people are they? Did they treat him well?

Obviously pleased with my interest, he tells me more. ANR is very aloof and arrogant, Nagarjuna is sweet, so is his wife Amala. Sumant also stays with them, his wife Kirti Reddy is a nice woman, who always smiles at him and talks to him… I nod, trying to imagine it all. I’ll go back to working for them, it is more fun and I’ll get to see stars everyday, he continues. I tell him I understand. For a moment, I am slightly awed and then tell myself, they are not that special. Maybe it is just my hyperactive curiosity. As I look into his eyes, I see that special sparkle, as he is reminded again of his brush with stardom, and all his tinsel dreams.

Akkada pani chesthe oka mariyada untundi kadaa madam..

Would he be respected more if he works for them? I doubt that.
But I was left wondering as to who was more star struck, him or me..

Where once we had good, soulful music, like in Sankarabharanam or Swarnakamalam, there are now boring ‘teen-maar’ songs, with insipid lyrics and unmemorable tunes. It would be absolutely wrong to say it is because of a lack in talent. Maybe our music directors need to buckle up and worry more about producing quality music than about pleasing the ‘mass’. I doubt if the ‘mass’ is happy, anyway.

Music does reflect on a society’s mood, its personality. If that is really true, we have a long way to go.

Somehow, the very act of standing at the window with a cup of coffee/tea and watching the rain slash down is a sensous experience. The sight of the rain against your window, the delicate sound of falling raindrops, the fragrance of the earth at the first drop of rain, ah, bliss! As you watch the rain, an overwhelming sense of belonging seeps into you, where you are just happy to be.
Happy to be in this beautiful city.
Happy to be a part of it.
Happy to have been born in it.
Happy for the bonds it helped create.

And you desperately wish you had been a poet, to extol it with lyrical verse. But hey, you can always read what a poet had to say about the city.

See how the speckled sky burns like a pigeon’s throat,
Jewelled with embers of opal and peridote.

See the white river that flashes and scintillates,
Curved like a tusk from the mouth of the city-gates.

Hark, from the minaret, how the muezzin’s call
Floats like a battle-flag over the city wall.

From trellised balconies, languid and luminous
Faces gleam, veiled in a splendour voluminous.

Leisurely elephants wind through the winding lanes,
Swinging their silver bells hung from their silver chains.

Round the high Char Minar sounds of gay cavalcades
Blend with the music of cymbals and serenades.

Over the city bridge Night comes majestical,
Borne like a queen to a sumptuous festival.

["Nightfall in the City of Hyderabad" from The Golden Threshold. Sarojini Naidu ]

Life is beautiful…
Especially in Hyderabad..:)

Indeed, the beautiful Bhagyanagar. A city with a soul of its own. While all other cities in the country got on to the bandwagon of commercialisation and glitzy lifestyles losing their identities, Hyderabad has managed to adopt everything without losing even a touch of its original, exotic flavour. And it will remain this way.

The true yogi of the country. Which can get involved without getting attached. Tell someone in Hyderabad that something is wrong with the city, they will simply nod. Or smile, to say the least. Then ask them what they like in other cities. You will definitely get an unbiased, accurate report of what’s happening and hot in other cities, and what Hyderabad lacks. Hyderabadis are known for their general knowledge. Now ask them if they’d like to settle down elsewhere. I’d be suprised if you emerge alive after that statement. They will look at you like you’ve lost your head. To live elsewhere is blasphemy or at most, a horrible compromise. That is the spirit of a true Hyderabadi. He is not blind to the faults of his city, yet loves it like his own child.

What else can you say about a city that welcomes everyone, hates no one, and yet knows what it is? It is a heavenly city, indeed.

Idi chaala hot guru!
Extremely hot!!