Festivals in India are celebrated with great gusto, for as a people we do not believe in moderation when it comes to the veneration of any of our religions. Combine this passion with narrow bylanes, wares that sell at less than half price, women bargaining at a volume that competes with the call for prayer from the towering minarets, beautiful ancient mosques and you might begin to imagine the measure of Hyderabad’s old city during the holy month of Ramzan. It is an experience that can only be felt by jostling through the throngs that swell as dusk falls and you wonder just how many more people can fit into the space, only to realize that what you see is perhaps not even the half of it.
With the stately Charminar watching over you, you clutch your bag, remain thankful that you are a good several inches taller than the average Indian and forge ahead. As legends go, there are many theories regarding the origins of the Charminar, though a popular story we heard from several shop owners and wizened old men, and Ambika’s particular favourite, was that it was built on the spot where the founder of the Qutb Shahi dynasty prayed to end the great plague in the late 1500s. There is another theory which tells us that this is the spot he first saw his beautiful wife to be, but that sounds rather like a bollywood mash up with little historical evidence behind it. Regardless of what you might believe, with its magical powers, the Charminar and its four minarets, flanked on one side by the famous bazaars of Hyderabad and on the other by the imposing granite Makkah Masjid, remains a beacon of hope for millions.
If you have never been to the city of the Nizams, the bazaars which sell everything from copper plates to glass bangles and from cheap imitation bags to fancy shiny wedding clothes are a sight to behold. During the festivities that surround Ramzan, everything from the wares to the sellers to the buyers and little children clothed in their new festival garb are tenfold. From samosas that sell at 3 for ten rupees to free sweets and haleem for the poor, from gigantic stacks of coiled vermicelli to steaming plates of hot biryani at the roadside ‘hotels’ there is nothing to want for. Each section and side streets offers you a new set of goods, and the maze is endless.
In the middle of all the madness and the organized chaos that is tantamount to any Indian festival, lies an oasis of calm and serenity, the over 250 year old Chowmahalla Palace. Walking through the gardens of the restored palace, it is easy to imagine the Nizams and their beautiful wives that once held sway over their land and people. The grand durbar hall with its intricate marble flooring, 19 chandeliers of Belgian crystal and Persian influenced architecture, sings like an ode to the dignity of the forgotten dynasties. Unfortunately giddy with the madness surrounding the Charminar we didn’t have much time to explore the palace in detail and left with a promise to return. We plunged back into the festivities, happy with the knowledge that in the coming future we will walk the corridors of the palaces of the old city and immerse ourselves into the love story that the Nizams built.
