The Complete Magazine

  There are stories you *remember*, and then there are stories that tug you straight back into a time, a smell, a street, a mood. This one belongs to the second category—straight from the mischievous mid-70s, when our photography studio turned into the most unexpected stage for late-night comedy. Back then, Diwali cleaning wasn’t just about scrubbing the floors or dusting the cameras. For us, it was the unofficial season of * masthi *—pure, harmless mischief. Our studio sat right on a busy main road, directly under a huge hotel with individual balconies for every room. Three floors tall, nearly 200 feet wide, like a giant watching over the street. At night, when the city slipped into silence, that entire hotel became our private auditorium. Around midnight, the operation would begin. We’d lower the studio shutter halfway, switch off every light, and instantly melt into the shadows. With the dim streetlights of those days, we became invisible—just a set of naughty, disembodied voice...

Let’s admit it — we’ve all had our fair share of love-hate moments with Hyderabad’s autowaalas . Sure, we curse them for their rash driving , abrupt lane changes , constant paan-chewing , occasional rudeness, late-night fare surges , and their outright refusal to go to " door ka area ". But sometimes, just sometimes, these same autowaalas turn into unlikely heroes — showing up like local legends when you least expect it. 1st Incident: Auto on the Run(run)way! A friend of mine from Bihar was running late for the airport — so late that missing the flight felt inevitable. This was back in the 70s , when Hyderabad’s traffic was a breeze, and airport security was minimal. Enter: our autowaala saviour, who confidently promised, “Sir, aapka flight miss nahi hoga.” What followed was a high-speed chase worthy of a Fast & Furious: Old City Drift sequel. The auto moved like a Ferrari , at one point nearly doing a wheelie. The real twist? He took a shortcut that led straight to the ...

I was 20, armed with a brand-new high-end camera from Singapore, and buzzing like a live wire. My late friend—my partner-in-crime from those early photography days—had just bagged us an outstation assignment at the Andhra Cement Factory , 250 km from Hyderabad . This was my first real “professional” shoot outside the city. I felt like I’d finally arrived. We travelled with two gentlemen from the ad agency—an Art Director and a Branch Manager flown in from Bombay , both very proper, very polished, very… Bombay. ### **The Shoot: Smooth Like Fresh Dosa Batter** Not a single glitch. Good frames, easy light, cooperative workers—one of those rare days when photography behaves like an obedient child. And then came the drive back: Ambassador car . Windows down. Songs. Samosas. Chai. Dusty roads. Pure 1980s bliss. ### **The News that Changed the Tone** Just as Hyderabad’s skyline began to appear, the radio crackled: **“Curfew imposed in the city due to Ganesh immersion riots .”** Shops burned. ...