A Long Journey: Dreaming of Hyderabad in Florida!

In the horizon of the mind, two cities Hyderabad and Florida meet. Dr. Roopali recounts an interesting tale. An exclusive for Different Truths.

I am like Janus, the Roman God. Like the month of January named after him, I too look back and look ahead. Journeys are like that. They begin in memories of other places and other times. Somewhere on our journeys, we catch up with places and people who had journeyed ahead of us. In South Florida, I caught up with one such friend who had left the adjoining village to our newly created housing development in faraway Hyderabad for the shores of the United States of America. He was the young physician, who, like all medical professionals, had aspired to go to the U.S. The classic brain-drain! He now lived and thrived in Florida. 

Florida is the southeastern most state in the United States. A peninsula jutting out into the Atlantic Ocean to its east and the Gulf of Mexico to its left – and a “panhandle” of land to its very north. The state of Florida, I have read, has more than 7,700 lakes, 2,276 miles of tidal shoreline and 700 freshwater springs!  A beautiful state whose flora, fauna, waterways, and lakes remind me of the tropical environs of India.  The variety of palm trees, the banana, the Gulmohar, the Bougainvillea, the Hibiscus, the Plumeria, the Sansevieria, the water lilies, the coconut, and familiar ferns growing lush and green everywhere made me feel at home. What did not was the incredible water management in that state. While the hot summer sun is beating down on the plains of Northern India, the water crisis there and the water management here in Florida made my heart bleed.

Florida’s water supply comes from a clever use of the Everglades. A giant slow-moving river often referred to as a swamp. Eight million Floridians rely on the Everglades for their daily water supply. We know human development and requirements affect ecosystems everywhere, and here too in Florida, the home of alligators, crocodiles, panthers, and countless other species is threatened. But serious efforts are afoot to preserve and to restore. Out there in the Everglades, airboats take scores of people through the sawgrass grown water. We went, too. It was an incredible experience!  

The ’Gators sometimes stay put and don’t surface if there is a storm brewing. I was not disappointed.  After all, they are free to do what they want. It is their world and their life. They have a right to preserve themselves. Haven’t you noticed how people who go to places to “see” tigers, or “sight” rare animals get annoyed and even angry if they don’t turn up for a photo shoot or a selfie?!

The restaurants and cafes in Florida were full of fun young people and some young oldies. The seafood was exquisite! Platters of shrimp and crab in garlic butter with crisp greens and French Fries. And as far as the eye could see, the endless waters of the salty ocean.  

Florida seemed to me to be on perpetual vacation. The wealthy have their second homes here. And if you did not own a yacht or fishing trawler, it seemed you could just rent one and set sail!  Meanwhile, movie stars and Presidents play golf here! And some even park their private jets here!

We also went to Key West – an island city, which is a part of the Florida Keys archipelago. About 90 or so miles from Cuba, it is the southernmost point of the United States, and is known for its coral reef and snorkeling and diving activities. Ernest Hemingway lived and wrote here. A visit to his beautiful home was a pilgrimage for me. And it was here in Florida that I found my emotional and geographical connections. Afterall, what is a place without its people?!

Before my doctor friend left for the land of opportunities, we had hosted a party to bid him a fond and a happy farewell. It was a surprise party. When the dancing and singing were over, and much love and affection expressed he picked up the guitar and sang a most poignant song…a song about never saying goodbye. The poignant, “Kabhi alvida na kehena. Kabhi alvida na kehenaaaa!” 

Only once since then had I met him an awfully long time ago when he was still a struggling medical professional in America. He was still “fresh off the boat.” He had taken us for a midnight drive in his sleek second-hand Toyota Corolla to Atlantic City in New Jersey. We had listened to Simon & Garfunkel.  That night in New Jersey, far away from Hyderabad, and far away from Florida, the moon had shone full and bright and had happily tagged along with us. The road was endless and oh so beautiful! Those were heady days and his having left the higgledy-piggledy of Hyderabad far behind seemed worthwhile.

But his song continued to echo over the decades that we did not and could not meet. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4fWyzwo1xg0&t=12s

Many decades later, that night in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, I walked into his incredibly palatial home. A movie star-like home jostling with the who’s who.  That is when I knew my friend had arrived. His long journey as the young next-door physician from the next-door ramshackle village in faraway Hyderabad to reputed celebrity cardiologist in wind swept sea-touched palm-lined Florida had happened. Such a long journey it had been. My heart swelled with pride. The chandeliers twinkled and tinkled with the wine glasses as we raised a toast to this eventful journey. His and mine. 

To sit and talk about my father and my family and my father’s sprawling home in Hyderabad where we had all hung out as very callow young people was soul talk. A thoughtfully curated dinner awaited us. The cuisine of the nawabs of Hyderabad. There were no forks and knives.  Our fingers were going to pick clean those spicy fragrant mouthfuls of dum pukht biryani, mirchi ka saalan, bagaara baingan, and double ka meetha!  We Hyderabadis sat down and ate and ate, swallowing our tears and our memories. Our memories stay put in the walls and halls of our mind. They never travelled. Our connection, still as deep, revealed itself in the memories of every word we had once exchanged as young people.

That evening in the Bollywood songs we sang, we completely forgot Florida. Instead, the four minars of the four-hundred-year-old Charminar took us back to those places we had sauntered and strolled through; the markets and mohallas we had foraged in; the small carts that had given us street food; the paan smelling movie halls we had sat in, eating popcorn; and those body hunched rickshaws we had piled on.

When it was time to go, the now wealthy cardiologist broke my heart.

He picked up his karaoke mic, cranked up the amplifier, and sang the song he had sung before he left home…

Kabhi alvida na kehena. Kabhi alvida na kehenaaaaa!

Never say goodbye. 

You see, the heart travels too. And it can travel far. 

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