To understand a Hyderabadi is also to breathe the air of his city,
to drink the water of Gandipet, as they say in Hyderabad. It is
a charming city with a most delightfully unhurried air to it. A
city where ambition left its nemesis, satisfaction behind and
moved towards another civilization. To the average Hyderabadi,
time is something to be savored, not lost to the dizzying
speed of modern life. He`s a left lane man, the Hyderabadi,
driving his scooter contentedly while the limousines hurry past.
He cannot, for example, understand the fulfilment that the Bombayman
gets in scrambling abroad the 6:18 fast from Churchgate, his left
foot perennially aspiring to be ahead of his right. He`d much rather
let a crowded bus go by and continue talking about Maduri Dixit in
Tezaab. Or better still, walk across to the Irani restaurant on the
corner and chat over a bun-muska and one-by-two chai (tea). On a
good day, he would order a pauna instead. Again one-by-two. The
Hyderabadi is invariably, therefore, a satisfied man. Even laid
back. He is more likely to aspire for happiness and having got it,
to share it. At his daughter`s wedding he would invite the entire
community to a lavish biryani and baghara baingan(egg-plant) meal,
most probably in an open yard, rather than to just an ice-cream in
a classy five star hotel. To him that would be impersonal. It
wouldn`t be symbolic of his daughter`s wedding. He is more likely
to be polite and unassuming. And you will always be aap to
him; occasionaly tum but never tu. That would be sacrilege. Or a
concession made to someone very close. Correspondingly he
would be greatly offended if somebody addressed him as tu.
The nawabs always said aap and the Hyderabadi has kept the
tradition alive.
Excerpt from Harsha Bhogle's book on MA Azharuddin, One of India's very
famous cricketeers and a typical Hyderabadi
