This all happened so long ago—like a dream or a fairy tale. Yes, Hyderabad is like a fairy tale. And I was traveling with the Fairy Queen: Padma. Padma is a preschool teacher at AISC who exudes and radiates love. I was immediately attracted to her from a distance—her voice, movements and aura. A very elegant lady and master teacher admired by all. Imagine my delight and surprise when she invited me to join her to travel for the week end to her home town of Hyderabad in Andra Pradesh where she grew up. Getting a ticket was no easy feat. We met at the train ticket office at 6:00 a.m. to wait in line to try to get a ticket. The line snaked down the street by 8:00 when they opened, and Padma used her senior status to get us tickets. Well, not exactly—to apply for tickets. They would have to be picked up the following day and another trip to the office—but it worked, and we left directly from school on Friday during a rain storm. There was a young man and woman with their 9 month baby sharing the open cabin with us. Babies here don’t wear diapers or pants and women clean patiently up with their saris. The lightening flashed snap images of the country side as the train ambled along. Trains here are fully—over booked and move slower than cars through the countryside. Indians are travelers. There were 2 triple bunks about 36 inches apart. When the train stopped at the villages along the way scraggly looking dusty kids jumped aboard. More than one had a monkey clinging to them. Their pants were tied up with rope and they were begging, only to be kicked off at the next stop to catch another train home. We dropped the bunks down and went to bed after 10 and the rhythm of the rain and train rocked me to sleep.
We arrived at about 6 am, and Padma’s childhood friend, Shaker, met us at the train. He drove us to the spot that Padma grew up, now an apartment complex which her mother owns an apartment in. Her mother lives with Padma’s sister in Hyderabad and we had the flat to ourselves.
Padma’s beloved departed father was not only influential to her, but the community. A medical doctor he cared for all of the people we met, and they still feel indebted to him. In the back yard of the apartment he gave some of his land to build a pre-and elementary school that would be free to needy children. This was 40 years ago. Padma took us to visit. Some benefactor had sent milk laced with almond oil. There were between 4-10 children in each small room. There was a teacher in each room and the children sat on benches with hopeful expressions. Padma had gotten a bottle of elixir from a sacred temple and poured a bit into each child’s and my hand. It was thick like molasses. She said it would make us strong and healthy. We nodded in agreement, feeling the difference already. The children greeted us and I sang to them, and they sang to me. The contrast from our wealthy supplied school was painful.
The difference from Chennai palpable. Clean streets! No trash! There were large monkeys in the streets and walls of yards. The traffic was subdued, and appeared more orderly. The architecture had a strong Islamic influence. Although the state of Andra Pradesh is only 5% muslim, the city of Hyderabad is 50% muslim. Padma had arranged for a driver for the day to take us out. She was an excellent guide, not only showing us the historical and cultural spots, but adding the personal perspective that only one who had a happy childhood could do. We stopped for me to buy a blouse to wear with my beautiful silk sari from my dear friend and neighbor Pappu in Plymouth. 80 cents and fits perfectly.
Hyderabad and Secunderabad are sister cities, one on each side of the Musi River—The Cities of Pearls. Driving over the Musi we watched small boats and a ferry taking people over to see the world’s largest free standing stone carved Buddha. He is made of 350 ton and 50’ tall. When he was being ferried out to this island the barge sank—it was raised, and now is in the middle of the river.
Our driver wound his way through side streets to arrive and park on a small side street on the top of the hill.
We stepped around the corner and there was the towering Charminar . It is a 4 column structure with 4 arches facing the cardinal points. Minarets on each columns built in 1591. It overlooks the incredible Laad Bazaar where we spent hours going down many roads of wares, and did not even see a fraction of it. The driver went and found some kohl and applicator for my eyes. Although there were stalls there were many people selling small things as well, “Hello Madame! You speak English?” a young boy asked me. As I came out of one shop there he was again, “Madame? You speak German? I speak German!” He was there all day speaking 12 languages. Delight for my eyes, and ears, and nose—well, sometimes a delight for the nose.
The presence of Muslim women in full burka whisked down the streets. We were invited to enter a large mosque—a rare event to let infidels inside. The city was ruled by the Nizam, a muslim, who declared Hyderabad an independent state in 1724. Hyderabad became a center for the arts, culture and learning, and the center of Islamic India. The nizams accrued enormous wealth. The people were loyal to the Nizam, and he was a benevolent leader. We visited the Chowmahalla palace, now owned by the government and rented out for weddings and concerts. The architecture was dazzling.
A short rest, coffee and shower to get dressed for the Wedding Reception—the reason for coming to Hyderabad. On the way there, right there in the city, before my very eyes---2 camels decked out walking down the road. . .Where am I anyway?
The bride was a daughter of one of Padma’s childhood friends. The reception traditionally comes before the wedding. The traffic was at a standstill and members of a marching band with instruments and full regalia passed our stopped car. We joked that maybe they were going to the party—They were! We arrived just in time to see the marching band come down a dark road lit by porters with elaborate gas lanterns on their head. The band marched the car with the groom and his sister in it. They stepped out of the car with such regality. The groom is from the north, and the bride from Hyderabad and so there was a tribute to both cultures. The brother and sister walked together down a path covered with arches laiden with flowers. The parents followed and then the guests. We walked into a wonderland! Towers of fruits and flowers everywhere. The people were dressed so splendidly—the finest and most beautiful saris and silks. There were throngs of people, and waiters with trays of h‘ors de oeuvres and juices. A receiving line on the stage, “Are you friends of the brides?. . .No? The Groom?” people asked. Barbara and I were the only white faces in the crowd. Then---THE FOOD! The food, the food the food. Unbelievable amounts and variety of foods. We took small bites of food down the line each one an explosion of taste. The servers would watch our face and beam large bright smiles as we oohed and ahhed over our taste. We were there for hours, talking and mingling with the people. The grooms family from Rajasthan. His people had bright orange hair, startling to me. It was explained that they did not like white hair, and so when they go grey they color it with henna. Everyone treated us as though we were long lost friends. Watching people greet and speak with Padma only increased my appreciation. A teacher she had in secondary school was there. We left late happy and heavy with food and feast.
In the morning we dressed for the wedding. It was held at a hotel with a roof top buffet restaurant, and two big rooms. The groom sat on mats on a raised platform with the brides parents and 2 pooja men under bright spotlights. The priests were reciting the Vedas to him for hours which explained what is expected of him as a husband. Barbara and I tiptoed in and took a side seat—there were not many people there yet. The grooms uncle came in and greeted us, “Oh—come and have breakfast!” he boomed. And we did. Traditional south Indian breakfast of a porridge, chapattis, fruit and curd (yogurt), and coffee. We spent some time talking to the grooms sister and aunt and then returned to the same scene of the wedding. People came in and out, called out to each other talked and laughed. The parents on the stage called out to friends who came. It was a very relaxed and informal occasion except for the groom who was sweating and looking very uncomfortable. This went on for several hours. I had a really good talk with the grooms sister and her husband. They live in Philidelphia and are both pharmacist. The bride and groom are both student getting their PHD at MIT where they met. His father is one of the scientists who worked on India’s space shuttle to the moon. The whole team was there! I remember when we began our space program and the enthusiasm and pride it carried. I think many educational and development schemes came out of this for the USA. The enthusiasm in Indians is great. Very educated and gracious people. After about 4 hours the bride came in, and everyone perked up. The pictures speak for what words cannot say. They sat side by side listening to the priests with parents by their side. AT one point a fire was lit and they walked around the flame—smoke billowing up and filling the room as spices and things were added to it. Her sari was tied to his scarf and they walked around some more. He placed silver rings on her toes. They were married. We seemed to meet everyone and in returning to the wedding from the night before it felt as though we were seeing old friends. My friends in India.
The trip back to Chennai was another overnight train ride. Our cabin (Without walls) was right by the open door. The seemed nice—cool air rushing in. However, it also meant that people hopped on and off during the night. One such unknown person took Barbara’s Teva sandels with them. We arrived to school with an hour to spare and many memories to savor.
