The problem…or the advantage…depending on how you look at it, or the time of the day…is when people ask you whether you are a foodie first or a writer…or whether you are a Bengali first or a Hyderabadi.

Being a Bengali by initiation, I have lived through the confusion of not knowing whether to DRINK water or EAT it…Jol Khaben…and being a Hyderabadi by birth, I have imbibed the culture of the impossible tomorrows and the far away day-afters…Kal Parson.

But was it the Bengali side of me that taught me how to savour the food as much as the anticipation and the experience? Or was it the Hyderabadi Nawab hangover that made me salivate verbally over every meal, every cuisine? I don’t think I shall ever find out and even if I do, the discovery may not be definitive.

If you’re getting the feeling that I am mad and confused, I don’t blame you. Remember I am the fat little kid who was brought up in the streets of erstwhile Calcutta, believing that fish when cooked became potatoes. (Mrs. Mazumdar, how could you)?

I was also the young fellow with an evolving palate that was tempered by Andhra Pickles as much as Jhaal Muri…as much by idli-wadas as by Phoochkaas.

So being a Madrasi in Calcutta and a Bengali in Hyderabad makes you one confused foodie. Especially when you discover nuances of Hyderabadi cuisine that make you grasp at insanity straws for survival.

For example there is a drink served in Hyderabad that has magical powers. Once you drink it, every other liquid, wine, whiskey or potion feels insipid and tasteless. Once you drink it, you firmly believe that there is a merit in being silly…and totally irreverent at times.

Over the years I have learnt to call this a Drink of Faith. And it is on tap in the city. You don’t have to go to any expensive bar or club for your dose of this elixir.

What’s it called? Well, the simple folk of Hyderabad have always called it Hyderabad ka Paani. More exotic variants are the Gandipet and the Manjira. And the purer the version you drink, the more Hyderabadi you become.

Chataas make way for Chatris. And Kurtas allow Sherwanis to flutter in the wind.

And that brings us to what we eat…Hyderabad ka Hawaa…as in the phrase “Chal, hawaa khaake aatein”.

Eat some air? WTF. If you thought the Bongs were crazy to say that they ate water, what do you do with a populace who swear by an Air Diet that makes you lose your mind instead of weight.

Damn. But the whole thing reeks of madness. Only when you go back in time and find the commonality of both the people can you even begin to understand, leave alone appreciate their similarities and their differences.

And the answer my friends…is blowing in the winds…as you sit atop a Rickshaw.

The Calcutta Model rides high and was inspired by a man who thought “if a horse can pull a cart, so can man”. And so the horse drawn carriages made way for the Rickshaw Puller driven Rickshaws.

The Hyderabad Model on the other hand was built around the logic that a man riding a bicycle could easily accommodate passengers in his wake. Even the brand was a give-away…Cycle Rickshaw. Now how much more clearer can you get?

Ok. Rub your eyes, wipe your glasses and focus. This is the Jurassic Park of the ‘kal, parson’…that by the way means the Park of the Past or the Future…depending on whether you’re wearing white or coloured underwear.

Anyway, one growing species is the Bengali in Hyderabad and the other is is the Hyderabad Foodies Clubber. And naturally the people who are great eaters and prolific writers etc. are the Sabyasachis and the Rahuldas of the world. And a Banerjee is always related to a Samosa. Or should that be Singara?

And as the Hyderabad Foodies Club celebrates 3 years of its existence and the Bengalis in Hyderabad get ready to celebrate their passion for films and for their forefathers…Rabindranath Tagore and Satyajit Ray, I take a back seat and drive…the roller coaster’s picking up speed, but you can’t hear me screaming.

Hop on…