​"Yes, yes..." He said as he got up, still with a serious look on his face.

"Are you looking for any books in particular?" He asked and gestured Vee and I to sit down. There were two empty chairs by the door.

The bookshop was small and narrow. The wooden sliding door was opened and from where we sat, I could see two long rows of books lined parallel to each other, from the front door right through the back. 

The shop looked old and dusty; the smell of old books filled the air. It was dark inside, except for a lone bulb hanging in the middle of the dim room and slivers of sunlight shining in from the back and front doors. 

Right then, a boy of about seven or eight years old appeared. He wore a dark sleeveless t-shirt and a pair of worn out jeans.

"This is my assistant, Imran." Vee and I smiled at the boy, and he smiled back.

We told Mr Bafanna that we found out about his bookshop from the internet. And that one of the main reasons for coming to the Old City was to look for Haziq and Mohi. I told him that we had almost given up because we thought we had lost our way.

Mr Bafanna smiled and said people often lose their way looking for the place. He asked Vee and I which part of India we came from.

"We're from Malaysia. And this is our last day in Hyderabad actually. So, we're very happy to be able to meet you before we leave tonight, " Vee said.

"You are from Malaysia? And you came looking for this shop based on what you read on the internet?" He asked sounding pleasantly surprised and touched.

Mr Bafanna asked for our names. When I told him my name is Fiza, he said that Fiza in Urdu means "atmosphere". I smiled and said yes, while nodding my head.

Hearing my answer, Mr Bafanna looked a bit more excited than before. He asked me if I spoke Urdu. I told him that I don't speak Urdu but a Pakistani friend told me what Fiza meant in Urdu some years back.

He then asked me if I could speak Arabic. I told him I don't except for a few basic phrases, but I could read Arabic scripts well. He smiled, nodded and said that was good. 

Feeling that the ice had been broken, I asked if we could take a look around. He said we were most welcomed to go inside. 

Vee and I went in. Imran had already walked out of the shop before we entered, to make room for us, I guess. The walking space between the two rows of books allowed only one person to pass through at one time. 

We discovered more rows of books behind that front row of books on the right. It was amazing to see hundreds, if not thousands of books stored in such a small space.

There weren't any bookshelves around - just books and manuscripts stacked on top of one another right from the floor and up to the ceiling. Some of the books were tied together, I suppose they were different volumes of the same publication.

We took our time admiring the collections of books. They came in various languages - English, Urdu, Persian - to name a few that I can identify.

Vee and I exchanged quick looks. Vee knew very well that I only trust my father on a motorbike, period. And now, I had to ride a motorbike with a stranger; without any helmets, and probably ride the bike sidesaddle! 

We didn't say anything - Vee laughed at my pained look. And off I went on my motorbike ride (side saddled, to be exact)...
​
When we got back to Haziq and Mohi with the rupees, I thanked the man in my best Hindi, "Bhaisaab, bahut shukria" (Brother, thank you very much) and awkwardly tried to give him some money for his time. But he politely refused and said in Hindi that Mr Bafanna is his friend.
​
Funnily, on that last day in Hyderabad, I learnt an important lesson on sidesaddle riding.  Apparently if you're riding pillion and sidesaddle, you get on the bike by stepping on the footrest (there is only one). It would give you the leverage to reach the seat in a more ladylike manner. The operative word is ladylike.

And on that last day in Hyderabad, I had the chance to meet Mr AM Bafanna, a man who understood the wealth of knowledge contained in those old yellowing pages and who had dedicated his life to books; I also got to visit the place frequented by one of my favorite authors and I bought a very interesting book that has since proven to be a delicious read over and over again.

That was a good day. ​

The sweltering Indian summer was testing my patience, especially after the slow journey down the claustrophobic and dingy stairways of Charminar. 

Once out in the piazza, a man introduced himself to us as a government official for Hyderabad tourism. He had short, neatly combed hair and wore a striped white shirt that looked formal enough. The one proof of his occupation was an ID card that hang on a lanyard around his neck which he quickly showed us when he introduced himself.

And so, we asked him where Mahboob Chowk was. 

"Madam, why are you wanting to go to Hen Market? I take you other place..."

Ignoring his question, Vee asked him for directions to a legit money-changer. We had both ran out of rupees and were in desperate need of some cash. 

Our guide told us to follow him. We were slightly hesitant at first, but then seeing that Laad Bazaar was bustling with people, and plus there were 2 of us, we decided to go ahead and follow his lead.

About two minutes down the street, we found ourselves standing in front of a pearl jewelry shop. The guide told us that this was a government approved shop and that they gave good discounts. 

Knowing that we've been had, we politely refused to browse through the display of pearl jewelry. Vee (always the more patient one) reminded him of the money changer. Only then he started talking about currency conversion to the shopkeeper. 

I could feel my crankiness went up a notch as Vee and I stood outside the pearl jewelry shop while our self-proclaimed guide negotiated the value of rupees over dollars with the shopkeeper.

After a few minutes, amid the persistent coaxing to purchase some pearl souvenirs and the conversion rate quoted way higher than what we got in Malaysia, I lost my patience. We left them with a bland thank you.

Standing somewhat lost in the mid of the bazaar, Vee finally pulled me towards the direction showed earlier by a young security guard of Charminar.

"Mahboob Chowk? Ha...Hen Market, you follow Laad Bazaar," said the young security guard, pointing down to the street below, as we stood near the Charminar's balcony which faced the bangles market.

I grew up on a hefty diet of Hindi movies and songs, thanks to my father.

Back in the day when a journey by car from Johor (Peninsular Malaysia's southern-most state) to Perlis (Peninsular Malaysia's northern-most state) took a good 12 hours, Hindi songs were the trusted traveling companion.

On those trips back to visit my grandparents, the family would be lulled by the likes of Lata Mangeshkar and Mohammed Rafi - all from Abah's endless cassette collection.

So I guess it is only normal to grow up having a certain bias towards the colorful world of the Bollywood movies, their music and songs. In fact, my first ever travel outside of Malaysia was to India (specifically to Goa - in search of Dil Chahta Hai).

And in that first time in India, that once upon a time, we decided to watch Devdas in Mumbai. 

Why Devdas?
None of us speak Hindi. But all of us had watched Devdas in Kuala Lumpur earlier (with subtitles, of course) and knew the story well. So, choosing Devdas to watch in Mumbai meant we would still be able to enjoy the movie even without English subtitles (just in case). And true enough, there weren't any.

Devdas is an epic movie based on the novella of the same name by the renowned Bengali writer, Saratchandra Chattopadhyay. The 2002 version was the third time the novella was made into a Hindi movie. This time around, it was directed by Sanjay Leela Bhansali.

Personally, I didn't mind watching it again for the beautiful cinematography and grandiose setting (Sanjay Leela Bhansali's signature style) that evoked both the splendor and decadence of old-world Kolkata. And of course, for the compelling acting of Shah Rukh Khan, Aishwarya Rai and Madhuri Dixit.

How did it go? It was an interesting and entertaining experience - all 3-hours of it! And I have 2 words to describe the whole episode - intermission, and interaction.

Intermission:
Bollywood movies are usually about 3 hours long, so they would normally have intermissions midway of the screening. It's basically a break (about 10 minutes or so) after the first half of the movie. At this point, the screening stops and everyone go out of the theater.

For the movie goers, the intermission is the opportune time for bio breaks - without having to miss any parts of the story (because that would suck).

From the movie-makers point of view, the intermission breaks up the mounting emotional hyperbole of a story - I may be wrong here, but I guess, an intermission is supposed to control us from getting too emotional? I guess that is needed once you get engrossed in Indian cinema.

And of course, intermissions mean more buying of popcorn and beverages! 

Interaction:
Not sure if it is the norm (as we only watched 1 movie in India), but that particular experience was pretty interactive! While no one stood up, no dancing happened, and no one talked back to the movie - there were a lot of clapping and singing aloud to the songs.

​I quite enjoyed it when folks started humming to "Silsila Ye Chahat Ka", clapped to the more fast beat songs and when we echoed "Maar Dala..." @ "I am killed..." to Chandramukhi's heartfelt profession of love towards Devdas.

This direct interaction with the story happened throughout the movie. I wondered if those folks in the cinema with us had actually watched the movie a few times before, seeing that they appeared to know the lyrics well!

In Summation:
I confess, watching Devdas in Mumbai left me with a lasting impression of the Indian cinema and its cinema goers. That was way back in 2002, and I wonder how the experience is right now, in the era of smart phones and Whats App?

I will be traveling to Chennai in a couple of weeks and I hope to catch Lingaa (if it is still showing) - am curious to see how folks react to the great Rajinikanth.

So, in your next India trip, do watch a local movie in the local cinema!

Driving from Chennai to Pondicherry - we witness the generosity of colors that is India. Houses that look like cupcakes-with-white-frosting, large advertisements on walls everywhere, decorated trucks on the Tamil Nadu highway - nothing is ever quiet about the colors there.

Of them all, the decorated trucks are the most striking. From end to end, the trucks are illustrated with vibrant motifs and hand-painted decorative fonts. Some trucks are even more heavily accessorized with large images, bright silk tassels, colorful garlands, posters and stickers.

The vibrant motifs come in many themes. You can see the Indian flag, religious symbols, deities, animals (e.g. tiger, bird, cow), flowers, and vernacular Indian patterns - adorning the trucks from front to back.

Slogans, mantras, advice, poetry (in the local language and sometimes in English) are expressed in decorative fonts. Most can be found at the back of the trucks, making them interesting "back-side" reading materials on long journeys!

A common element at the back of the trucks is the variation of that single, common directive/request "Horn Please". Some examples are "Sound Horn" and "Blow Horn OK".

Each truck's deco is unique. Each, is its own psychedelic painting on wheels. And if a painting is a reflection of an artist's thoughts and feelings - profiling a trucker based on the bright, colorful and at times, ostentatious deco on his truck, is just inevitable.

• "Use dipper at night" - the Good Samaritan
• "Jesus", "Ave Maria", "Bismillah" - the Faithful
• "OK, TATA, Bye" - the Polite & Friendly
• "Save rain water, one is best wear helmet" - the Conservationist/Poet??

We Two, Ours One - I saw this written in English at the back of a truck.

"What does that mean?" I asked Vee.

"I think it's India's family planning tagline. But isn't it We Two, Ours Two...?" She mused.

Then, she asked Raj (our driver) in Tamil.

"They changed it to We Two, Ours One. Only then, people would stop at three!" 

LOL! The things we can learn from a truck's "back-side"...

In Pondicherry I got up around 5:30 am (India time) to perform Fajr (the first of 5 prayers Muslims perform throughout the day). It was an hour earlier to the time I would normally perform fajr in Malaysia, and at the same time it was 2.5 hours later! Kind of amusing when you think of the time difference.

As I completed my prayers, I could smell a light waft of fragrance in the hotel room. I wondered if the folks at Atithi (our hotel in Pondicherry) performed the same morning puja Hindus do at home, at the hotel - the smoke from the incense traveling through the building with positive energy. 

I asked Vee that question. She said, "Yes, most likely."

After breakfast, Raj drove us to the Sri Aurobindo Ashram. Everyone there was barefooted (we need to take off our shoes once we enter the vicinity of the ashram) and most were dressed in either white or grey cotton.

Some there were curious tourists like Vee and I. Others came specifically to perform homage to the late Sri Aurobindo and Mother. The place was quiet except for low whispers and soft movements of cotton as folks move around the area.

The ashram has the same neat and structured quality characteristics of buildings in the French Quarters. The whole ashram is painted in light gray with thick white borders at the edge of the walls.

The grayness of the wall is contrasted by pots of colorful marigolds, dahlias, bougainvilleas and many more flowers unknown to me, which were lined neatly in rows against the wall. We were not allowed to take any photographs there.

After exploring the ashram, and still barefooted, Vee and I walked over to the Manakula Vinayagar Temple just about 10 seconds across the paved street.  

Vee went in to pray. I lingered outside, admiring the prayer wares and flowers sold at the row of wooden stalls near the temple's entrance. There, you can get something from small figurines of Lord Ganesha to pestle and mortar of varying sizes.

Our next stop was the Basilica of the Sacred Heart of Jesus (a church of more than 100 years old). I sat in the pew as quietly as possible so as not to disturb the air of reverence. On the walls were colorful stained glass panels, depicting the life of Jesus Christ. 

Not long after we arrived, a bus filled with college students stopped in front of the Basilica. The teenagers entered the building in twos; first the male students, followed by the female students.

Outside, we saw Raj at the rosaries and crucifixes kiosk. He bought 2 rosaries, a long one with the color of jade and a short one, with red and black beads.

"Are you Christian?" Vee asked him.

"No, I'm Hindu. I bought these for my youngest son. He has a liking for crucifixes."

Raj hung the rosaries by the car's rear view mirror. The next day, the rear view mirror broke and fell. For the rest of our journey, the rosaries garlanded the statue of Lord Ganesha on the dashboard. What amazing companionship.

From the Basilica, he drove us to Auroville (the experimental township designed for the attainment of Divine Consciousness). It was about 30 minutes drive through the other end of the Tamil Quarters.

Every few minutes, in between the shops, nestled either a Hindu Temple, a Christian Church or a Muslim Mosque - some big, some small - mostly just a few hundred meters away from each other.

As we drove pass the Muslim area (here I could see more ladies dressed in hijab and long black robes), Raj told us that he too lives in a Muslim area in Chennai. During Ramadhan (the Muslim fasting month), his village's mosque would usually prepare sweet porridge for breaking of fast. Everyone could take the porridge.

"What is her name?" Raj asked Vee in Tamil while he looked at me through the mirror.

"Fiza..." She answered.

"Fiza? That is not a common Muslim name. Usually, Muslim ladies would have names like Fathimah, Zainab, or Khadija."

Vee translated what he said to me. I laughed.

India has had its share of religious conflicts and tensions - what with its many religions - Hinduism, Sikhism, Islam, Christianity, Judaism, Buddhism, Jainism, etc. But on that day in Pondicherry, I was humbled to see different faiths breathing, living and flourishing side-by-side.

This was our last day in India. 4 hours of pacing up and down Usman Road - and after going through a hundred or more pieces of sari, it was time for a break.

There are several eateries just across BKR Grand Hotel, where we stayed. We entered one, satisfied with its overall cleanliness and sat down. It was a small diner and we were the only patrons at the time.

An elderly man came to take our order. Vee and I discussed quickly the merits of snacks over a full meal, and finally decided on the thali. Our third and last thali meal in India (sigh).

At the end of the diner, I could see 2 men (in their late fifties) hunched over a table, busy preparing something.

Then, in the usual legendary speed (refer Thali Tales 1), the thali trays arrived! 

Our server was tall with thick well-trimmed graying mustache. He was attentive and polite as he placed the trays and got us our bottled water. Once he was sure that we had everything we needed, he moved away.  

He did not disappear totally though. Instead, he stood in vigilance a few tables away. He provided Vee and I ample personal space to eat without feeling observed, yet, within sight for any help needed. 

After the first thali meal, it had become a habit for me to count my dish bowls before eating. Altogether, there were 8 bowls (including the dessert), 1 papadum, a generous amount of white rice and a piece of roti (the Indian flat bread) - another hearty meal!

Vee started to eat. As for me, I took out my camera, and turned my tray to this direction and that to get a better angle of my thali tray. After a few attempts, I still could not get a good view of the rice beneath the roti. So, I moved the roti slightly to display the rice.

I aimed my camera on the thali again. Still unsatisfied, I just sat still for a few seconds. Come on, how difficult is it to shoot a photo of a tray of food, anyway?

Suddenly, from behind my lense, I saw my roti moved. In the swiftness of the South Indian server, our server had taken matters into his own hands, literally! 

In my shock, I heard Vee chuckled.

I looked up. The server had a satisfied smile on his face. I smiled back and said, "Nanri." Thank you.

And he moved back to his guard post.

"I hope he washed his hands..." I whispered softly to Vee.

We spent half the morning in Auroville. It was quite some walk to view the Matrimandir. As Raj drove us back to town, I heard he mentioned the word "sapte" to Vee. This was one of the few Tamil words I know - it means eat! 

"He asked what we have in mind for lunch today, veg or non-veg?" Vee translated.

"Anything's fine..."

So Raj dropped us off at Hotel Surguru, about 10 minutes away from Atithi Hotel (where we stayed). We told him not to wait. It would be good to do some walking after the potentially heavy lunch.

The restaurant is located at the hotel's basement. We had to go down some flights of stairs and into a dimly lit area before we could see the restaurant.

One thing worth noting is that the restaurant is friendly for people with mobility issues as it has got a stair lift. In fact, while we went down the stairs, the restaurant staff was helping an elderly lady to use the stair lift.

Hotel Surguru's restaurant is a full vegetarian restaurant with air-conditioning. A server dressed in a black and white uniform brought us the menu. He was young, maybe in his early twenties.

Apparently, the restaurant is famous for its dosas. But it was lunch, so we ordered thali again - our second thali in two days! And just like in Saravana Bhavan, we did not have to wait long before our young server returned with 2 shiny trays.

Compared to the hilarious experience of "12 dishes and more" from the day before, the number of bowls at Hotel Surguru was boring and harmless - only 9 dishes plus papadum!

Yet, as if to make up for its lesser number of dishes, we were each served with a piece of roti (flat bread), and a bowl of tomato rice on top of the white rice!

Our server came back with the rice, and scooped a considerable amount into our trays.

"How do you say sikit in Tamil?" I asked Vee. Sikit is the colloquial term for "a little bit" in the Malay Language. 

She replied, "Konjam..."

Our server overheard the dialogue. He grinned at me before leaving us to our food.

The meal was delightful, and we ate quietly. Our hunger gave no room for trivial conversations.

As the rice began to clear, our server came back.

He gestured to me, pointing to the rice bowl in his hand.

I smiled, shook my head slightly. I was feeling full.

Not satisfied with silent exchange of sign languages, he said with a grin, "Konjam?"

I laughed, "No, no konjam..."

He wobbled his head slightly and smiled.

There was only one other couple there when we entered the dining area of Maison Perumal. We stood at the entrance for a few seconds, scanning the overall arrangements of tables, trying to decide where best to sit. 

The skylight area looked airy, green and tempting, but we were concerned of possible mosquito attacks as the day was getting dark. In the end, practicality trumped aesthetics, we avoided the skylight area and sat instead where there were roof and bright lights.

Things were pretty quiet in the dining area, except for the soft whispers of the patrons. Strangely, the kitchen behind us was quiet as well. After a couple of minutes, a man came out from the kitchen and walked over to us, smiling.

He was dressed in the Indian male traditional attire, the dhoti kurta. Specifically, he wore a light grey kurta over a white dhoti.  He looked pretty young, maybe in his early twenties. He is thin and small built with short hair. He has sharp features, almond shaped eyes and a thin mustache. His name is Bijay, and he has the most pleasant smile.

Vee asked him something in Tamil. He spoke back in English, not really answering her question. Twice this happened. After that, we continued our communication solely in English.  

For dinner, there is a special set meal that the Chef had prepared. The details of the meal were written on a chalk board held upright on a standee. Bijay moved the board towards us so we could see the menu clearly, and he explained the dishes one-by-one.

We heard fireworks out on the street. It was the same as the night before. We wondered if the fireworks were meant to celebrate the coming of Thaipusam. 

When Bijay came to serve our drinks, Vee asked him about the fireworks. With a smile, he answered, "Sorry madam, I'm not sure if the firework is for which festival. I am actually from Nepal. " Okay, that answered why his name is spelled the way it is, and why he spoke English to Vee's Tamil.

It was amusing observing Bijay at work. Every time some new guests came in, he would turn the menu board towards their direction, and began the same ritual of explaining the set meal.

In his kurta and dhoti, he made me think of a school teacher explaining some science diagram to the students (not that teachers in Pondy are dressed that way, I think not...)

As we waited for our order, more guests walked into the dining area, mostly Europeans. Strangely enough, Bijay was the only server around. He walked swiftly in and out of the kitchen - explaining the menu, taking orders, serving dishes, pouring wine, moving chairs, getting the bill - basically tending to all our dinner needs.

What was striking about this Bijay of Maison Perumal was his ever smiling face. I think it is difficult to talk and smile at the same time, all the time. But for Bijay, the smile never left his face. 

As he moved back and forth, from the kitchen to the dining area or to the front hall where bills are calculated and printed, back to the dining area and the kitchen, he was all smiles. He looked tired at times, but the smile was never gone from his face.

Bijay was busy with the other guests when we were about to leave. I couldn't do the typical touristy thing of getting a photo of him, to remember his pleasant smiling face by. But all in all, Bijay and Maison Perumal made our short trip memorable. 

The next time I am in Pondy, I will try to stay in this heritage hotel and experience its beautiful architecture and hospitality and maybe talk more with Bijay.