Biryani. My mother scoops long, fluffy grains of basmati rice into a sturdy metal pan. She then layers yakhni on top of the rice, the gravy-like masala mixture of mutton, red pepper, garam masala, cumin, ginger and garlic paste, green chiles, cilantro, mint, and other ingredients. Like a sandwich, she adds on one more generous blanket of basmati rice to encase the masala mixture. After sprinkling saffron, mint leaves, and fried onions on top as a luxurious garnish, she simmers it in the oven. When it is done, everyone knows. Meticulously stirring the masala from the bottom of the deep pan to the top showcases the richness of each component of the traditional dish. Tender mutton meat pulls apart effortlessly, with deep, robust flavor. The masala mixed with the saffron-infused rice is spicy, and cooled with a side of raita, a refreshing accompaniment made with dahi, diced fresh vegetables, and cilantro.
Biryani is a physical embodiment of my family’s roots. The fragrant, savory rice dish transports one directly to Hyderabad, India, a city famous for its biryani. In the sixteenth century, biryani was a dish strictly for Mughal royalty, created with unique Central Asian and Persian techniques in experimentation with local ingredients and climate conditions. Chefs of the Nizams of Hyderabad prepared luxurious platters of biryani to serve in royal palaces. Rich, plentiful, aromatic, and indulgent. Now, the traditional dish can be made for anyone, anywhere, anytime. The large recipe sizes for biryani and other Mughlai dishes point towards the cuisine’s royal Muslim derivatives that shaped culinary and dietary practices (Jain, K, Bagler).
Elderly Hyderabadis can discern “authentic” biryani, the type that my mom makes, the type so intensely palate-pleasing beyond imagination. My mother is famous in my family for her biryani with immaculately balanced spices. I asked her where she learned how to make it, and she gestures to her mom, my sweet Nanidear (maternal grandmother) and her mother-in-law, my dear Dadima (paternal grandmother) from observing in the kitchen, and through trial and error. I asked Nanidear where she learned it from and she credits her mom and grandmother. And the culinary lineage goes on, with each generation passing down a biryani recipe fit for a seventeenth-century Hyderabadi princess. Now I’m honored to continue the legacy.
With parents born and raised in India, I experience a slice of what it means to be Hyderabadi. The culture, the food, the dress, the language, the lingo, and more. My parents and close family offer a window to Hyderabadi life. I understand the idioms they use when they chat in Urdu. We frequent local Indian grocery stores to pick up items like imlee (tamarind) and curry leaves. My mother’s delectable sheer khurma and shahi tukra (both Mughal era delicacies) always make an appearance for Eid. I smile when I hear my father listening to classic Indian songs as he irons his shirts, pressed to perfection. Sometimes we’ll have nashta (breakfast) of dosa, idli, kheema and paratha, khichdi with khatta and papad. My brothers and I gather around the carrom board to play a riveting game, while my parents sip freshly made chai infused with cardamom and fragrant spices.
I don beautiful traditional Indian dresses hand-stitched by Nanidear or bought from special shops that honor authentic techniques. From Nanidear, my mother, and my aunt Ajju Khala, I appreciate and learn about chain stitching, mirror work, kamdani (embroidery using precious metal threads including real silver and gold), zardozi embroidery, and other intricate designs, textiles, and handmade work. Weddings are still grand, multi-day affairs even in the United States, that highlight faith, family, food, and fashion, and that won’t change for the next century.
Fresh fruit is always on our table – a mix of Hyderabadi favorites and local produce – mangos, guava, peaches, plums, bananas, lychees, and more. Love of fruit stems back to the Mughal times, when then the empire boasted illustrious gardens and bountiful fruit trees. In fact, “when emperors wanted to establish truce and end strife they would use fruits and sugar as the messengers.” (Sharma) Fruits were symbolic of goodwill and respect, so it was a frequent item to be given by foreign diplomats or visitors to the emperor. (Sharma) Fruit has always had an honorable place in the Mughlai, and greater Indian, diet. I think about this as I enjoy a ripe mango, which is perhaps just as unifying as it is sweet.
At the same time, I am removed from what Hyderabad is today. In a way, I experienced and continue to experience my family’s version of Hyderabad. The one my parents grew up in, the one my grandparents made a living in. So much has changed since then. Hyderabad is now more crowded than ever, which is already a feat in itself. The city is completely developed.
Dadajan (paternal grandfather) established one of the first plots of land in the Jubilee Hills neighborhood of Hyderabad. This was when there were still large boulders and trees, the sky was not polluted, and there was a close neighborhood feel. The horizon stretched as far as the eye could see, brimming with nature. It is different now. Hyderabad is not the same, but I still see an imprint of its beauty in my parents. They still hold attachment to their city, and I do too.
Like many others, I balance two identities in different contexts: my nationality and my ethnicity. Whenever I shop with Nanidear in India, she asks me to stay quiet, as the shop keepers will otherwise raise the prices exorbitant amounts if they hear even the slightest hint of an American accent. Even so, mannerisms can be enough to identify a non-local in a crowd (I smile a lot).
In the United States, curious folks inquire where “I’m from” and if I say “Bedford” or “Bethesda” or “San Antonio,” which were all correct at different points in time, they’ll ask “but where are you really from.” And then I give the answer they’re looking for and play my part as the Indian girl who seems Indian, but is actually an echo of her parent’s India, the one she grew up on. That reflection is beautiful in its own way, as I strive to be like my parents.
Nonetheless, places and people evolve as time marches on. I scrap gems of culture I gather domestically and abroad to form the mosaic that is personal identity. ❖
— Saamia Bukhari
ماشااللہ بیٹی آپ نے حیدرآبادی ہونے کا حق ادا کیا
ہم لوگ حیدرآبادی زیادہ تر نرم مزاج اور رحم دل اور عاجز مزاج ہوتے ہیں ۔ جو دل میں ہوتاہے و ہی کہتے ہیں ۔