Mallepally, just 3 km from Nampally, never makes it to the ‘Top 10 places to visit in Hyderabad’ lists. After living there for three years, even I wouldn’t put it there. But what it loses in rankings, it makes up for in street cred.
Before readers from Kondapur judge me, allow me to introduce Mallepally as the area where Mohammed Siraj developed his pace (okay, not exactly, but it’s 2 km away — he must’ve started his run-up from there). Also, it’s just 600 m from St. Ann’s, where Tabu went to primary school. A true fact that somehow replaced my memory of how to close a balance sheet.
Summer Land roast
If you ever pass by, have the fruit salad at Summer Land. You’ll understand how I let a juice shop humiliate me.
One day, I took my friends there. Big mistake. I asked the guy, “Bhai, how much is the special dry fruit salad?” He replied, “Padhlo. Vahan likha hua hai.”
My friends laughed at the sheer rudeness. Then he added: “Padho. general knowledge badhega. Nahi toh yahin rah jaoge. Tumhare doston sab US chale jaayenge.”
Whatever happened to ‘Customer is God?’ That was the most anti-customer service moment I’ve ever had.
My friends had a great time and said we should do this again. I never took them there again — but I did go alone.
Mutton chop
Once, I asked the mutton guy, “How much?” He said, “Rs 450.” I said, “Last week it was Rs 420, no?” He replied, “Phir pichle hafte ka bhi mila ke Rs 480 de.”
I haven’t haggled since. Ask my event managers.
Motherly shawarma
If the juice guy roasted me, the shawarma guy mothered me.
I was a regular at his shop. But with 20 other shawarma joints in the same circle, I’d cheat once in a while. He always knew.
Problem was, I couldn’t avoid his shop. The gully was so small, I had to make eye contact every time I passed. He’d look at me like I’d betrayed him and ask: “Bhai, shawarma lagaon aapko?”
And like SRK eating twice for Anushka Sharma in Rab Ne Bana Di Jodi, I ate two shawarmas in a 20-minute gap — one out of guilt, one out of love.
His shop shared a wall with the ironing guy. One day, after starting my diet, I went to get a shirt ironed. He spotted me, excited: “Shawarma lagaon tumhareko?” I said, “Nahi bhai, I’m here for business formals only.”
Before my shirt was even ironed, the shawarma was in my hand. I said I’d get money, he refused. That day, I spilled mayonnaise on a shirt I hadn’t even worn.
When I got serious about my weight, I stopped visiting. He still tempted me with off-menu items like dried meat his family made. He didn’t want my money. He wanted my soul.
Murder, Dawood & nostalgia
There was also a building supposedly owned by Dawood’s friend. Or was it Abu Salem? Or Saleem Feku? Only Dawood knows. Then there was the Irani chai place — Café Marjaan. The tea was decent, the story wasn’t. Apparently, the owner was out on bail in a murder case. I read it in the paper, no photo attached. So I’d go there every day, order tea, and stare at the counter trying to guess who the killer was. I did that for two years — until Netflix started giving free trials.
I was happy living there, eating shawarmas, suffering fruit salads, and playing CID — until a doctor was murdered next door. And like Tabu and Siraj, I also left.
Now I go back only in memories.
Sandesh
@msgfromsandesh
(This comedian is here to tell funny stories about Hyderabad)
(The writer’s views are his own)