When I visited Hyderabad twice this summer for a visa, I thought that I would not write about this city. Not because it didn’t have enough archaic domes, stone-carved mosques, vast green lawns around centuries-old tombs, skeptical animals running in the rare thickets, crows and pigeons clouding the grey sky, flaky flavorful pastries crowding old bakeries, robust fort walls that sprawled through the city, ginger tea being sold at every nook and corner, and historic buildings standing bright and beautiful as proud queens amongst the hustle and bustle of an old bazaar.
But because the city was orthodox as per my ever-widening and independent taste. Men ogled women freely, while their wives roamed around the city fully-clad. Hoards of men crowded the corner shops and the streets while the women were not to be seen. I even saw an old Muslim man point out to me and tell his son that the style of clothes I was wearing (a pink top and three-fourth jeans) weren’t decent. Though delicacies sent out a spicy fragrance in every corner of this Nawabi town, we had a hard time finding delicious vegetarian food.
