Tag: HavMor

Recently, we had a mini crisis in our house: our microwave suddenly stopped working! This was a full-blown panic situation. How were we going to survive? We were down to just a range with four burners, an oven, and an air fryer. That’s it! 😜

And that got me thinking… how far we’ve come from our humble beginnings in Hyderabad of the 1960s and ’70s.

Growing up in Hyderabad, my parents had one small kerosene stove. You poured kerosene into a chamber, pumped a piston, and that got the flame going. That was it—just one burner. This was before LPG gas stoves (which felt luxurious with their two burners). There was no fridge, no blender, no geyser (water heater), no washer or dryer—of course.

In those early days, we didn’t even have a dining table. We sat on a wooden peeta—a plank barely an inch off the floor.

And Amma ran the entire household with just that stove.

We took it for granted then, but thinking back now, I simply cannot wrap my head around how she did it.

Every morning, she made fresh rice and curries—breakfast for us, and packed lunches too (sometimes with freshly made chapatis). Remember, there was no fridge. Everything had to be cooked fresh. She fed us, got the three of us ready for school, and once we left for the bus stop, she and Nana would head out as well. They both had government jobs—Nana as an accountant in a central government office, and Amma as a Physics lab instructor at Gandhi Medical College.

And it wasn’t just the five of us.

Friends and relatives from our native villages would often show up—unannounced. They came to the city for medical visits, work in the court, or government offices. Today, we hesitate to visit neighbors without texting first. Back then, people took overnight buses and showed up at your doorstep at 6:00 AM.

The doorbell rings. You open the door. Surprise—guests!

And just like that, Amma would quietly expand her plans for the day—meals, space, everything—to include them.

We kids, of course, felt none of the strain. We were just thrilled—because guests meant homemade goodies from the villages.

College Days and Colleagues

Amma worked at a medical college, where first-year students studied basic sciences like Physics and Chemistry. She often regaled us with stories about her colleagues—Mohan Rao uncle, perhaps the head of the department at that time; Vijaya aunty, her close friend; Shantha aunty from Chemistry department; another Shantha aunty from Botany; Bilquis aunty; Hemalata aunty and Regina aunty.

We later learned, sadly, that Vijaya aunty passed away just a day after Amma.

Unlike today, colleagues didn’t socialize much outside work. But occasionally, they treated themselves to lunch at HavMor in Basheerbagh, right across from the college. Amma’s descriptions of their chole bhature and ice creams were so vivid that we felt we had eaten them ourselves.

She also told us stories that opened up the world to us—of colleagues from different communities, different backgrounds. One aunty, related to the then Chief Minister M. Chenna Reddy, had multiple household staff and drivers. Others came from Muslim and Christian families. And then there were Telangana colleagues, whose “funny accent” amused us—long before Telangana became a separate state. Of course, in hindsight, we Andhra folks were the ones who had migrated there—so perhaps we were the ones with the funny accents!

Adventures in the Kitchen

Amma loved experimenting in the kitchen—something quite unusual for her time and background, when most cooking stayed within traditional, inherited recipes, from their mothers.

She learned from colleagues, from our neighbor Anasuya aunty (whose Yanam-influenced cooking had its own unique flair), and even from Femina magazine, which we subscribed to annually.

Much later, during visits to India, Ramya and Vidya noticed her enthusiasm for TV cookery shows—where she picked up new ideas like pudina rice with meal-maker (soya chunks), which we all loved!

I’m quite certain I inherited this “spirit of adventure” from her.

After all, I’m the one who came up with Mysore masala waffles and twice-cooked chicken biryani! And like her, I analyze every new dish I eat and confidently declare, “You just have to pressure-cook the chana dal with the mutton and mash it with the masalas—that’s all! No big deal. We can easily make this at home. No need to spend so much money!” 🙂

My all-time favorites of Amma’s cooking include mutton chops, “Spanish rice” (which had nothing Spanish about it), whole stuffed kakarakaya (bitter gourd), and shami kebabs, which she made only once—but my mouth still waters whenever I think of it.

On my trips back to Hyderabad in the late ’80s and early ’90s, I would request Spanish rice and mutton chops—and she would lovingly oblige.

My one regret? I never asked her for the recipes. Now it’s up to us to try and recreate these. I am so happy I recently managed to replicate Amma’s Spanish rice! Yay!! On to the other ones now!

Later, Amma and Nana became vegetarian. Not only did she stop making these dishes, but she would give Nana the dirty looks whenever he occasionally strayed from the vegetarian diet. 🙂

One of my fondest memories is our very first restaurant experience—though back then, they were all called “hotels.” She and one of the aunties from college took us to Dwaraka Hotel in Lakdi-ka-pul for our first masala dosa. That was quite an unforgettable experience! Unlike today, eating out was a rare treat—I can count on one hand the number of times we did.

Veena

In the early to mid-’70s, Amma decided to learn the veena.

Looking back, this feels remarkable—pursuing a personal passion while managing a household and a full-time job. She had some early exposure to classical music in her village, mostly vocal. But learning the veena was something new.

A teacher would come home once a week. I don’t know about my siblings, but I certainly absorbed something—if only by osmosis. I remember plucking at the strings, curious and fascinated.

More than anything, those sessions gave me a tuition-free exposure to classical music.

One of the first pieces she played was “Giri Raja Sutha.” Years later, when I heard Mandolin Srinivas perform it at a Shakti concert in Philadelphia, I was instantly transported back—to our SVR Nagar home, with Amma playing that Tyagaraja kriti.

A Life Well Lived

These are just a few of my many cherished memories of Amma.

She lived a full and accomplished life—becoming the first college graduate in her family and, along with Nana, raising us into successful, productive citizens of the world. Over the years, she also supported many relatives—offering them a home, guidance, and a path forward in their education and careers.

We said goodbye to her on April 22, 2026.

On May 3rd, a brutally hot day in Hyderabad, we gathered at Jubilee Hills Club for a memorial lunch in her honor. Over 200 family members and friends—people who knew her from SVR Colony, Gandhi Medical College, Government Degree College, the Ramachandra Mission, and beyond—gathered to reminisce about the ways she touched their lives and to relive fond memories of happy times spent with her over the years. It was deeply moving to see some of her earliest colleagues—Mohan Rao uncle, Hemalata aunty, and Shantha aunty —make the effort to be there, despite their age, to remember her and share stories.

Amma may no longer be with us, but in so many ways—in our kitchens, in our music, in our stories—she still is.