(The picture above is of Aziz Bagh, the house my great grandfather Nawab Aziz Jung Bahadur built and where I was born)

One of my teachers was Rai Mahboob Narayan Sahib, a relative of Maharaja Sir Kishen Pershad Bahadur, the twice Prime Minister of Hyderabad State. Rai Mahboob Narayan Sahib used to teach me Urdu. Rai sahib was a scholar of Urdu and Farsi (Persian) literature and a poet, and his most prized possession was his library. He lived in the old city in a part of the Diwan Dewdi (the palace of Maharaja Sir Kishen Pershad Bahadur which was in a state of grave disrepair when I saw it). I used to go to him thrice a week for Urdu lessons. I would cycle from Sanathnagar to Shahali Banda past Charminar, a ride of about 20 kilometers one way.

Cycling is all about watching the world go by as you ride along. I had a Raleigh bicycle, the kind which today is called a Roadster. We just called it ‘cycle’ because that was the only one there was. On the front in the center of the handlebars, there as a little bracket on which was mounted the light. This was a tin box with a reservoir of oil with a wick dipped into it from the compartment above that was fronted with a clear pane of glass. The glass pane was on a hinge and opened outwards. The inside of this little box was lined by mirrors which magnified and threw the light of the lamp outwards. You lighted the wick, carefully shut the pane and off you went. There were two problems, however. The lamp quite understandably didn’t give too much illumination, so you were riding mostly by starlight and memory. Memory about the location of potholes in the road. All roads were generously provided with their quota of potholes. If on occasion your memory failed, or you got distracted by anything or blinded by the lights of an oncoming vehicle (there were not too many of those in those days) you went into and bounced out of a pothole. Usually that put out your light. And believe it or not, a policeman who had been lying in wait for just such an occasion would materialize out of the darkness and grab your handlebars and stop you. He would threaten to give you a challan (ticket) for riding without a light unless you were reasonable and coughed up a lesser amount for his tea. If you were a poor student like I was, you begged and pleaded to be let off on the truthful plea that the light had just gone off. One day, to convince a particularly dense cop, I took his hand and pressed it against the glass pane of the lamp. He yelled and snatched his hand away as it got burned because the glass was hot. In the confusion I managed to escape. Later on came the dynamo light. This was an ingenious device which consisted of a dynamo which was mounted on the bicycle frame near the rear wheel. It had a rubber wheel on one end which when you flipped a lever, would rest on the rubber tyre. When the cycle was moving the little rubber wheel would spin thanks to the friction between itself and the tyre. This mechanical energy was converted into electrical energy which lighted the lamp in the center of the handlebars. The only problem was that the intensity of this light depended on how fast the bicycle was moving and would dim when you went slowly and turn off when you stopped. If you were peddling down a holey (full of potholes) road, you couldn’t go fast. But that was when you needed light the most. I wonder if anyone upgraded this very clever device with a battery to store the electricity created so that the illumination would be constant.

Each new place brings with it memories associated with it and you now look at it again to see if anything has changed. As I mentioned earlier, Hyderabad was a very green place at this time. Especially with the first rains, which brought with them the signature aroma of the parched earth tasting the first moisture after the long summer. The Attaars (perfumers) of Hyderabad made a perfume by the name Atar-e-Gil (perfume of the wet earth), a beautifully subtle perfume that reminds you of that real perfume of the earth, which I would breathe into my lungs and memory. There was hardly any motor traffic initially from Sanathnagar. Only the occasional APSRTC (Andhra Pradesh State Road Transport Corporation) bus. The driver of the bus that went to Begumpet knew me because I would take his bus to school, and he would honk in greeting as he passed. People had time, were friendly, and communicated.

Over Lakdi-ka-Pul (Wooden Bridge), which changed its nature to concrete but not its name and crossed over the ravine through which ran the railway line to Nampally. On the other side of the bridge was a huge, old Neem Tree at the gate of the District Collector’s Office. Its shade was the abode of rickshaw pullers who used to park their vehicles in the heat of the afternoon and curl up on the passenger seat to take their siesta, waiting for the heat to lessen in the evening. Just past that was the famous Irani restaurant Lucky Café. Irani restaurants (called Irani Hotal) were an institution in Hyderabad. There would be a small cashier’s counter at the entrance/exit, square wooden tables with marble tops and four chairs. The restaurants served different things but the thing they were most famous for was their tea and triangular samosas. The tea would be brewed all day in the kettle with tea dust suspended in a cloth bag to which the tea maker added some more when he felt the strength had lessened. They never took anything out. Just added more tea dust, more water, and sugar and milk. The whole thing would cook all day and create a brew that was unique. It came in small cups, and you had a choice of several versions. Burqay Wali (with a thick layer of cream floating on top), Khada Chamcha (with so much sugar added that the teaspoon would stick in it and stand upright), Pawna (three quarter cup), One by Two (self-explanatory), and Narmal (normal). The samosas that went with the tea (but you had to pay separately for them) were triangular and filled with a mixture of either vegetables or more often with minced mutton and peas.

Irani restaurants were not called that because of their cuisine but because of their ownership – the many Irani people who have lived in Hyderabad for many generations. The tea cost 25 paisa (4 annas) and the samosa the same. A One by Two meant that you were getting your tea at 12 paisa which was a bargain any way you looked at it. You could sit in the Irani Hotal all morning with your one cup of tea and solve all the problems of the world. Nobody would hurry you or pressure you to leave or buy something more. Tea drinking in the Irani Hotal was more about spending time with your friends than about drinking tea. Today Irani Hotals have all but vanished because owners knocked them down and built shops and malls. A serious loss to Hyderabadi culture if you ask me. There was a charm in the Irani Hotal that can’t be aspired to in a steel and glass mall, which looks and feels generic to put it politely.

As I came into the main city past Khairatabad, there would be more traffic and less time for dreaming. I would ride past the Bagh-e-Aam (Public Garden) with its tiny little masjid at the entrance, with the grandiose name of Shahi Masjid. It was built by the 7th Nizam of Hyderabad and its size is perhaps a measure of the importance of Islam in his administration. Hyderabad was a secular country ruled by a nominally Muslim king. Adjacent to the Shahi Masjid in Bagh-e-Aam is the beautiful State Assembly building, the erstwhile building of the Nizam’s Council. The crest of the Nizam was still visible on the tops of the pillars. In the same area was the newly built Ravindra Bharati theatre, built in the birth centenary year of Rabindranath Tagore. I am sure Tagore would have seriously objected to the architecture of the building – not only is it ugly but positioned next to the beautiful domes of the Assembly building, it is even more of an eyesore. It’s strange that in a country graced with so many beautiful buildings our esthetic sense seems to be prominent by its absence.

Next was Nampally, the Hyderabad Railway Station. Lots of activity, both on that account and because this was a major bus station where you changed buses to go in different directions. At the junction was the famous Azizia Café where you got the best Nahari (trotters’ soup) and Kulchas (a kind of unleavened bread) in town. They would cook the Nahari all night and traditionally you ate it for breakfast – that is why it was called Nahari. I neither had the time nor the money to afford to eat Nahari at Azizia and so you must take my word for its delicious taste, based on the cloud of aromas that I would cycle through. At Nampally is also the Numaish Ground (Exhibition ground), where the annual All India Industrial Exhibition is held from January 1 to February 10.

It attracts a wide variety of businesses from all over the country and was the highlight of the season. You walked miles, meandering through shops selling shawls from Kashmir, Kolhapuri slippers from Rajasthan, carved walking sticks and screens from Muradabad; lungis from Kerala, Banarsi saris, Ikkat prints from Andhra Pradesh and dozens of things from everywhere else. The many eateries catered to all sorts of tastes; Roshogollas and Mishti Doi from Bengal, Bhel puri and Aaloo Tikki from Bombay, Idli and Dosa from Tamilnadu, Petha from Agra, Habshi Halwa from Delhi, and all kinds of sweets from Mathura. Outings to the Numaish were for the whole family and waited for with great anticipation all year. Crowds were gentle and dust was kept down by water sprinkled from tankers.

Next came Moazzam Jahi Market, the beautiful stone building named after the second son of the last Nizam with Hameedi Confectioners (By Appointment to HEH The Nizam, on its sign board) at one end and Famous Ice Cream in the middle. Ice cream made in iron jars set in wooden buckets filled with ice. The top of the jar had a gear, and the ice cream maker turned a handle which spun the jar in the bed of ice. He would occasionally lift the lid to see if it was done and then would serve it out in small cocktail glasses – delicious natural fruit mixtures, creamy with ice crystals which made it crunchy. Moazzam Jahi Market had shops arranged around an open courtyard with shop fronts opening both into the courtyard as well as onto the road that encircled the market. There are perfume shops at one end and shops selling fresh fruit in the rest of the market. I am sure there were other kinds of businesses, but it was mostly a fruit market. Just past the market was the famous Karachi Bakery, which has nothing to do with Karachi, but known to this day for its excellent baking.

I would then passthrough Osmanganj, the hardware market – (named after the Nizam, Mir Osman Ali Khan Bahadur) the road lined on both sides with shops below and homes above. The apartments on top of the shops had balconies with lovely cast iron grills. Almost all shops sold the same kinds of things, sanitary ware, plumbing hardware, roofing sheets, electric light fittings, nails, bolts, nuts, tools, and in a few cases, car and truck tyres. Shopkeepers never advertised anything and never competed. They had almost the same prices and offered to get you what you wanted from a competitor’s shop if they didn’t have it. As you waited for the shopkeeper’s servant to go and get the thing for you, he would offer you a cup of Irani chai. Osmanganj also had spice wholesalers who sold onions, garlic, chilies, and turmeric. Headloaders (called ‘Coolies’) would unload the sacks of garlic, chilies, and turmeric from trucks and carry them from one shop to another. Some would have the tail of their turbans over their face, but what the chili powder did to their lungs I don’t know but you had to be careful not to take too deep a breath as you cycled past. But the aroma of all these spices together was wonderful and heady. Interestingly, outside each shop on the pavement and in some cases on the road itself, you would see little old ladies sitting with small heaps of spices before them and people would buy from them. A quintessential wholesale – retail relationship.

Immediately after Osmanganj was Siddiambar Bazar. Siddi Ambar was the steward to the Vazir (Prime Minister) of Hyderabad and became very wealthy. He owned the area later to become Siddiambar Bazar. Another place Ambarpet (Ambar’s house) is also named after him and so is another market between Hyderabad and Bidar called Siddipet. The chief point to note in Siddiambar Bazar was the masjid in the middle of the road. Places of worship in the middle of the road are not uncommon in Hyderabad or India. The place of worship would have been on the side of the road to begin with. Then the road widens, and nobody thinks of moving the place of worship. They simply run the road on either side of it and like an island in the middle of a river, it bifurcates traffic.

I would then come to the Musa Nadi (Musi River), the physical and psychological boundary between the New City and the Old City. I would cross over from one to the other across the Naya Pul (New Bridge). At that time there were only three bridges across the Musi. The Purana Pul (Old Bridge) Naya Pul and Chadarghat Pul. The river itself was not the sewer it is today and had a good bit of water in it, especially in the monsoon. Buffalos of Goulees (milk sellers) from Noorkhan Bazar and other localities around Musa Nadi would head for the river every morning and spend the day, wallowing in the shallows and return home in the evening; all without any human supervision. They do it even today though the river is now more effluent than water. What that does to the animal and its milk is another story. But you can’t help being amazed at their ability to negotiate traffic simply by walking slowly through it, like a ship sailing through the water. Since the time I am writing about and now is more than 40 years apart, we are talking about several generations of buffaloes. Governments come and go, economies rise and fall, but the buffaloes walk to the river and back.

Musa Nadi is lined on one side by the beautiful domes of Osmania Hospital facing the beautiful red sandstone building of the High Court with its own delicate domes and minarets. The present Salar Jung Museum building and the Salar Jung bridge had not yet been built. The museum was in the Salar Jung Dewdi, the house of Sir Salar Jung Bahadur himself. When that Dewdi finally fell apart thanks to neglect, the museum was moved to its new housing. Beyond the Musi lies the Old City of Hyderabad. A land of small lanes, fantastic aromas, Marwari Hindu jewelry merchants living cheek by jowl with Muslim cloth merchants. A land of many masajid dominated by the largest of them, Makkah Masjid, built by the founder of Hyderabad – Mohammed Quli Qutub Shah.

This is what Wikipedia has to say about him and the city he founded.

Muhammad Quli Qutb Shah (1580-1612 CE) (Urdu: محمد قلی قطب شاہ‎) was the fifth sultan of the Qutb Shahi dynasty of Golkonda and founded the city of Hyderabad, in South-Central India. and built its architectural centerpiece, the Charminar. He was an able administrator, and his reign is considered one of the high points of the Qutb Shahi dynasty. Some say he named the city in honour of Alī ibn Abī Ṭālib, regarded as the first Imam by Shia Muslims and who alternatively was known by the name Haider, meaning “lion”. There is a myth that his beloved Bhagamati was converted into muslimfold and was eventually named as Hyder Mahal, and the name of the city was changed to Hyderabad after her name thereafter. Hyder is usually a male name, and there is no evidence of Bhagmati’s existence. Tombs of all the nobles of Qutub Shahi dyantsy exist, but there is no record of Bhagmati’s tomb. Muhammad Quli Qutb Shah ascended to the throne in 1580 at the age of 15 and ruled for 31 years. Some historians say that he was 17 years of age at the time of his crowning. The planning of Hyderabad was greatly influenced by that of Esfahan, which Muhammad Quli Qutb Shah opined was unparalleled in the world and a replica of heaven itself. Muhammad Quli Qutub Shah was the third son of Ibrahim Quli Qutb Shah Wali. The city was built on the southern bank of the Musi river. Some say that Muhammad Quli Qutub Shah called architects from Iran to lay out the city, which was built on a grid plan. History mentions that he himself had studied many architectural plans and with consistent consultation of his Prime Minister Mir Muhammed Momin, he carried out roads and buildings with his help. Muhammed Quli Qutub Shah founded the city of Hyderabad in 1591. Muhammad Quli Qutub Shah initiated the construction of ‘Charminar’ (Four Minarets).”

Rai Mahboob Narayan sahib used to tell me about the origins of Hyderabad, a city that he loved and took pride in belonging to, more than anyone I ever knew. After the completion of the Charminar in 1592, Mohammed Quli Qutub Shah built a set of four bazaars radiating at right angles to each other from the Charminar. Each bazaar was headed by a lofty arched gateway called a Kaman (arch or bow). The four were named Char Kaman, Machli Kaman, Kali Kaman and Sher-e-Batil-Ki-Kaman. Each bazaar was built in the same traditional style of shop below and house above, all built of stone with high ceilings. The shops had a wide covered veranda before them, and the homes above had balconies with stone lattice grills.

I would cycle up from Naya Pul through Pathar Gatti – the major cloth market of Hyderabad – lovely old stone buildings with shops below apartments of the shopkeepers, heading for the center of it all, Charminar. At the beginning of Pathar Gatti is Madina Building, built by an entrepreneur philanthropist, Khan Bahadur Ahmed Alladin the rental income of which was given in charity. It is an often-forgotten fact that Hyderabad State used to give economic aid to Saudi Arabia before they found oil and that the first electric lighting of both the Grand Mosques – Al Haramain Shareefain was paid for by the Nizam of Hyderabad, Mir Osman Ali Khan Bahadur. My grandfather Mohammed Asadullah sahib was the Director of Religious Affairs and led a delegation of pilgrims for Hajj on behalf of the Nizam on two occasions and was a state guest of His Majesty King Abdul Aziz ibn Saud and was granted the honor of participating in the washing of the Ka’aba. Interestingly, I was invited by the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, Ministry of Haj, to speak at the Annual Haj Conference in 2008 and was a guest of the son of King Abdul Aziz, His Majesty King Abdullah bin Abdul Aziz ibn Saud. I had the honor of meeting His Majesty and attending a banquet hosted by him on the day of Eid ul Adha, after Haj in Mina Palace.

The approach to Charminar is along the wide, straight road from Madina Building, through Pathar Gatti, past Gulzar Hauz which used to have a working fountain in its center. That last part of the bazaar leading to Charminar was famous for its jewelers. Golconda has always been famous for its pearl market but what many people are today unaware of is that it had the only diamond mines in the world at the time. The famous Kohinoor was mined in Golconda as were several other famous diamonds. There are two towns in the United States, called ‘Golkonda’, named after the real Golconda, of which Hyderabad was the capital city. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Golconda,_Illinois and https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Golconda, Nevada

An interesting anecdote about these jewelers of Hyderabad is that they were all Marwari and all Hyderabadis for many generations. So, their language and manners were all quintessential Hyderabadi, something which came very much in handy when dealing with traditional noble families. It was the tradition in those days that the women of noble families, both Hindu and Muslim were veiled and didn’t go to the markets to buy anything. What they wanted was custom built and if they wanted to design or choose, the market came to them. Cloth merchants and jewelers came home with their wares and spread them out on carpets and the ladies picked out what they wanted. Crass things like price were seldom mentioned and payments were made by the husband or his ADC depending on who and what social level we are talking about. I remember Suraj Bhan jeweler coming to our home, Aziz Bagh where my grandmother and her sisters would choose and order jewelry from him. He would bend double and greet the ladies with our traditional greeting of “Adaab arz karta hoon Begum Saab” and would speak to the ladies from behind a curtain. His wares would be passed to the ladies behind the curtain and transactions would be done. People who don’t talk about money are destined to lose it and so that is what happened to Hyderabadi nobility as well. But it was grand and very graceful while it lasted.

I always enjoyed entering the Charminar square. It is not called ‘Charminar square’ but I am using the term to describe coming out into the big wide square around the monument. There was no temple built into one of the corners at the time Charminar was built and it wasn’t there when I would cycle past it every day. If I’d had a camera and the prescience that one day a temple would be forcibly constructed and would become a source of conflict, I would have taken pictures to show that the towers were free from any other structures. I do believe that there are pictures taken in the 50’s, 60’s and 70’s which do not show any temple because it wasn’t there. The square had its share of fruit, juice, bhajiya and trinket sellers. And tourists climbing up the steps in the towers to reach the balconies on top. There is a story of one such who decided to leave this world from the Charminar and took a leap. Unfortunately for him, he landed on top of another person who had no intention of leaving the world at all. However, since we don’t decide on the time to leave, the jumper lived and the jumped-upon left.

Past Charminar I would cycle along the road past Makkah Masjid on one side and the Unani Hospital on the other. Unani medicine is a traditional healing system that originated in South Asia. It is also known as Arabian or Islamic medicine. Unani medicine is based on the idea of balance and harmony between the body’s physical, mental, and spiritual realms. Unani medicine is based on the teachings of the Greek physicians Hippocrates and Galen which is why it is called ‘Unani’ (Greek).  Great Muslim physicians of the Arab and Persian Empires developed it further and contributed to it. It arrived in the Indian subcontinent around the middle of the 14th century. Hyderabad has a hospital of Unani medicine which is currently in a very sadly neglected state. A beautiful building falling apart.

Makkah Masjid was also built by Mohammed Quli Qutub Shah who it is said, used bricks made from earth brought from Makkah in the construction of the central arch and so its name.

Wikipedia has this to say about Makkah Masjid, Hyderabad: “Makkah Masjid was built during the reign of Muhammad Quli Qutb Shah, the 5th Qutb Shahi Sultan of Golconda (now Hyderabad). The three arched facades have been carved from a single piece of granite, which took five years to quarry. More than 8,000 workers were employed to build the mosque. Muhammad Quli Qutb Shah personally laid the foundation stone. The construction was later completed by Mughal Emperor Aurangzeb after conquering Hyderabad. Jean-Baptiste Tavernier, the French explorer, in his travelogue observed: “It is about 50 years since they began to build a splendid pagoda in the town which will be the grandest in all India when it is completed. The size of the stone is the subject of special accomplishment, and that of a niche, which is its place for prayer, is an entire rock of such enormous size that they spent five years in quarrying it, and 500 to 600 men were employed continually on its work. It required still more time to roll it up on to conveyance by which they brought it to the pagoda; and they took 1400 oxen to draw it.” The main hall of the mosque is 75 feet high, 220 feet wide and 180 feet long, enough to accommodate 10,000 worshipers at a time. Fifteen arches support the roof of the main hall, five on each of the three sides. A wall rises on the fourth side to provide Mihrab. At the peak of the minarets flanking the mosque is an arched gallery, and above that a smallish dome and a spire. Inscriptions from the Qur’an adorn many of the arches and doors. The main structure of the mosque is sandwiched between two massive octagonal columns made from a single piece of granite. The cornices running around the entire mosque structure and the floral motifs and friezes over the arches remind the tourist of the great attention paid to detail in Qutub Shahi architecture. They have a close resemblance to the arches at Charminar and Golkonda Fort. On the four sides of the roof on the main mosque, the ramparts are made of granite planks in the shape of inverted conches perched on pedestals. The octagonal columns have arched balconies on level with the roof of the mosque with an awning for a canopy, above which the column continues upwards till it is crowned by a dome and spire.”

I am almost at my destination by now. But I must mention two amazing sights, sounds, and aromas without which this description would be incomplete. Just past Makkah Masjid are shops which sell fresh Kulchas (round flat unleavened bread the size of a quarter plate) which when freshly out of the tandoori ovens, flood the street with a rich aroma that must be breathed in to truly savor. The Kulchas are simply stacked like towers on white sheets of cotton fabric on the shop floor and people would buy what they wanted, wrap them up in old newspaper and take them home. Kulchas have a special legendary association with Hyderabad. The first Nizam of Hyderabad, Mir Qamaruddin Khan, Nizam ul Mulk, chose to give the humble Indian bread – ‘Kulcha’, a special place on the official flag of their kingdom! The legend goes that when Mir Qamaruddin Khan was appointed as the Subedar (Nizam) of the Deccan by the Mughal emperor, he went to meet and take leave of and request blessings from Hazrat Nizamuddin Awlia. The Sufi master gave him Kulchas wrapped in a saffron cloth and invited him to eat as many as he wished. Mir Qamaruddin Khan ate 7 Kulchas. Hazrat Nizamuddin Awlia prophesied that Mir Qamaruddin Khan would be a king and his dynasty would rule for 7 generations. And so it was, that Mir Osman Ali Khan was the 7th and last Nizam of the Asaf Jahi dynasty – the name Mir Qamaruddin Khan took when he declared independence after the collapse of the Mughal empire, Asaf Jah. Despite declaring independence and establishing his own dynasty, he retained his title of Nizam ul Mulk – Nizam of Hyderabad in honor of his nominal leige-lord the Mughal Emperor. Neither he nor his descendants ever called themselves, Sultan or King.

After the Kulcha bakers, there were shops manufacturing and selling gold and silver foil. But foil like you would never imagine. So fine and thin that if you don’t handle it carefully it simply disintegrates in your fingers. Gold and silver foil that you decorate sweets and savories with and which you eat. The way they made it and do to this day is to put a small piece of silver or gold into a thick leather pouch and hammer it. As you approached this area you would hear continuous hammering as the Warq (that is what it is called) makers make the Warq. After hammering away for a long time, when they know it is the right thickness, it’s carefully removed and put between two tissue sheets and sold in packets. The sound of continuous hammering was hypnotic in a way and a signature of that part of the Old City.

Once I arrived at Rai Mahboob Narayan Sahib’s house, I would knock on the door. Someone, usually one of the ladies would take note and ask me to wait. The ladies were all in purdah (veiled) like all noble women in our times, irrespective of religion, so they wouldn’t open the door even for a fifteen-year-old. Rai Sahib would open the door and I would greet him in our Hyderabadi way with my right hand to my forehead and say, ‘Ji main adaab arz karta hoon’ (I pay my respects to you). He would return the greeting equally respectfully and invite me into the house. We would sit in the parlor, and he would ask me how I was and then our class would begin. The usual form of my class was that we would study the textbooks for about an hour and then take a tea break. Tea and biscuits would be served and then we would spend another hour (outside the actual class time) simply sitting and talking about Hyderabadi culture and history. Thoroughly enjoyable and instructive to learn history from someone who had witnessed much of it.

An incident I remember was in Ramadan and I was fasting. When it was time for the tea break, Rai Sahib said to me, “Baba, if you permit me, I will be back in 5 minutes.” He left the room and returned a few minutes later. This also happened the next day and the day after. The curiosity of a 15-year-old has limits. So, one day when he took his leave, I waited for 5 minutes and then peeped through a crack in the door to see what it was that he was excusing himself to do in the next room. And what I saw remains with me till this day, decades later. I saw that he was having his cup of tea. Something that he liked to have at that time of day but which he was not drinking in front of me, as he knew that I was fasting. Me, a fifteen-year-old random unknown boy. He, a seventy-year-old scholar who was hugely respected everywhere. This consideration and manners (Rawadari in Urdu) were a unique element of the Hyderabadi culture. When I recall those days and think of the times we are living through, I wonder what went wrong. How did we become like this? Where did we go wrong in communicating our values, ethics, and morals? We, my generation are the missed link. Something went very badly wrong so that we now have the corrupt, ill mannered, hostile society that we have condemned ourselves to live in. Truly we sleep in the bed of our own making.