The lights went out. Not all the lights, just the ones in my room and the bathroom. Figured it could be a blown fuse. I don't mind darkness, or diffused lighting. It's kinda neat to throw open the balcony door and let dusk's fading light bathe the room in an almost eerie, but comforting semi-light. I was expecting family for dinner, don't think they would share the same sentiment about eating in the dark! So, I set out in search of the closest electrical store.
I’ve been hearing a lot lately about humans and their comfort zone and how it’s good to shock your system by doing things out of the ordinary. I’ve been doing a lot of 'shocking my system' recently – choosing to break the routine and experiment with new experiences (nothing wild, usually good, healthy stuff).
I decided to explore the area on the other side of my house – predominantly Muslim. My close friends in high school were mostly Muslim. They drove around in posh cars and lived in massive bungalows. Not the same here. In this neighborhood, anything automatic is a luxury and anything with four wheels is a dream. Picture dilapidation. Picture houses jammed close together, two rooms housing a family of ten.
You can tell a certain people group love food when you spot a beef shop every 20 meters. I walked down to the electrical shop, he didn’t have spare fuses, so he directed me to a shop much further down the road.
I passed by a group of men huddled around a table, probably bitching about work, the weather and their wives' lack of humor over a bowl of Chicken Haries. A tiny red roadside stand, claiming to sell ‘Chinees Fast Food’ was not actually selling anything remotely Chinese. An old Muslim lady was busy working an outdoor grill on a little cart. If faces told stories, hers would be an epic saga. Probably of love lost, she had that hardened look on her face, with warm eyes, ready to unfold into a charming smile. Should I stay and chat or just pass by, breathing in the spicy aroma of fresh kebabs? Next door, reams of fabric were neatly stockpiled in a store probably the size of my bathroom. They had the most royal of purples and fancy orange, mixed in with fascinatingly intricate handiwork.
It was all so different - the language, the attitude of a cohesive community, the expected lack of women outdoors, population growth at an alarming rate, saturation point. Pockets of suburbia seemingly unaffected by the rage of modernism sweeping the city's landscape. Still holding on to the last vestiges of old world charm.
This is the Hyderabad most of us experience through our car windows. I breathed a different air tonight, walked a different road and conversed with strangers I will probably never meet again. Of course, I was late for dinner, but I returned with a fuse, some additional electrical material to finally fix my bedside lamp and a fascinating peek into a vibrantly interesting way of life.
Obviously, I'd experienced similar scenes a thousand times before. But, tonight - I saw them through the eyes of an artist - noticing little details, choosing to portray even the banal in an interesting light, accepting the infinite beauty offered through diversity.
