Marzia’s Trendmill

Today, she loves her new job, her workspace, her colleagues, her freedom.

Wearing a blue salwar-suit and a black scarf, this 5’ 7” woman climbs down a flight of steps to drop into the music-thumping gym to say bye to her colleagues working hard on machines and exercises. ‘‘I will begin from tomorrow,’’ she flashes a big smile at the trainer. “I have a tendency to put on weight. Before beginning work here five months ago, my only exercise was household work. Pochcha (mopping the floor) kept me in shape.”

Pushing the heavy door, she walks into the canteen buzzing with kids from all over the country. One wall is all glass and looks out into the twilit sky framed by a gigantic rock that reaches the second floor.

Sipping on a Mirinda bought from coupons, she says: ‘‘My family is very conservative. I am different from my cousins, I studied in St Anne’s which is in the new city. It was a great environment, hi-fi people study there, like the daughter of an MLA, a branch manager.”

She was the only girl in a scarf in a class of 40. ‘‘But I was never made to feel different. I guess it is in the way you carry yourself. I was very sociable and bright at studies. Mom made me study. I was Miss of the Match in Class X.” Her current favourite is hottie Irfan Pathan. AXN is her chosen TV channel and she loves to listen to DJ Doll (kaanta laga) on the way back home in the office car. ‘‘I am fond of the luxuries in life. Earlier I used to have just the bus change. Today, I am so confident. The entire extended family is in awe of me. We had a party on the ‘floor’ (her workspace) and I wore jeans. I looked sexy!” she bursts into a big laugh. A plateglass turnstile swishes back as she swipes her card at the exit. The road is fabulous and Gurgaon’s skyline is a generation old.

We pass the neighbourhood of Jubilee Hills, the last of the night-sweepers are going home. Today, Naidu’s civic plan has ensured that Hyderabad is the cleanest city of urban India. Cyberabad, good roads and a clean city. The yuppie loves the change, the 24-hour cyber cafes, the health food cafes, and is determined to make sure Naidu gets a crack at fulfilling his Vision 2020.

In Banjara Hills, Hyderabad’s equivalent of Mumbai’s Malabar Hills, Marzia says: ‘‘This is where I want to live. All the filmstars, the chief minister live here.” Tabu and M.F. Husain, Hyderabadis too, visited last week to promote Meenaxi: A Tale of Three Cities (Hyderabad is one). That was before the director pulled the film out after radical Muslim groups criticised it.

Banjara Hills is also the home of the young Majlise Ittihadul Muslameen (MIM) leader Asaduddin Owaisi, who is seeking votes from Marzia and her family. The tall, suave sherwani-wearing barrister trained from London, who is contesting to become an MP, is in his thirties.

His father Salahuddin Owaisi’s legacy is unique in that Hyderabad is the only place on the country’s electoral map (apart from Kerala) represented by a Muslim political party. It’s been built brick by brick, aggrieved family by family, cause by cause in the troubled bylanes of the old city. Be it the displaced, riot-affected, families of those killed in ‘‘encounters’’ or POTA accused, the Owaisis have religiously and genuinely rushed to the rescue.

Ask former 9/11-suspect Mohd Azhmat Javeed (37), who lives just a km away from Marzia’s house, near the Husainatam police station. Like many in the neighbourhood who have built their houses with money from the Gulf, Azhmat’s house has floor tiles and teakwood doors. He lived the American dream for a decade before his identity dragged him back to the bylanes of Charminar. Deported after a year’s incarceration over credit card and passport discrepancies, this former Newark newstand vendor is trying to fit in to his father’s business.

With the built of a boxer, his hennaed hair is closely cropped. ‘‘The state tried to deport my wife, who is a Pakistani, for national security. The judge did not even look at the letter sent by the US authorities saying the terror charges were not proven. It was the Owaisis and the human rights groups who helped me.” He’s sitting on the floor with his wife Tasleem Murad (30) who is from Karachi. Helping her toddler son Bilaal who has just spilt a glass of Sprite on the carpet, she says: ‘‘I am glad he is back?’’

What about Chandrababu Naidu? ‘‘His government caused trouble for us. But more than that, if I go according to the US system of elections, where is the development? Forget the new city, this area (old Hyderabad) is neglected. Except for the population and RCC buildings, it’s the same roads, same sewage system, same electricity, the hospitals the Nizam built. Hyderabad joined India a year later and they still treat it as if it is not a part of India. Our area also needs development.’’ His name is on the voters’ list. ‘‘My vote is going to Owaisis, I am thankful for their help.’’ His wife will wait till the Indian government gives her citizenship. ‘‘It takes two years. But in Hyderabad, people have waited for 15 years.’’

Marzia’s mother will vote for MIM too. Marzia, on the other hand is untouched by the periodic foment of injustice. ‘‘I don’t vote on the basis of religion. How can they talk about it in this era of IT and competition? Advani, the way he talks about religion, when will they grow up? I like Naidu, I will vote for him.’’ She likes to ignore that Naidu’s Telugu Desam is hitched to BJP for these polls, just like Naidu conveniently ignores the radical sentiment in the coalition to play to the sizeable Muslim vote in his state. Riots in old Hyderabad area, like the one on December 6 last year, Marzia’s office gives a paid holiday. ‘‘They don’t cut our pay, since it’s a natural calamity.’’

As the morning sun begins to beat down on the Nizam’s monuments, she goes to one of the many Ashu khanas, which she visits when she is down and depressed. ‘‘I pray and I get solace here,’’ she whispers, standing with folded hands in front of the golden alam studded with precious stones.

‘‘I am modern in my thinking but that does not mean I ignore my culture.’’ Driving past the Charminar, she stops her brother Salman who is whizzing past on a scooter. The shops on both sides are shut, in an hour they will open to sell pearls, jewellery, wedding outfits and for lunch the tired shoppers will head for the restaurants selling the best biryani and haleem in the country. It’s 9 am and with almost the entire city awake, Marzia’s eyes have begun to droop. Her pick-up is just 8 hours away.

‘‘Mother keeps scolding me saying look at your sister. I want to be like her,’’ Salman says with pride as Marzia answers a call on her cellphone. ‘‘A year ago, I used to ask mother’s permission even to go the loo,” says Marzia. Today, she is telling her that she would be busy on Sunday. It’s an office lunch party where there will be a DJ.