The Shades of Tongue

The fresh air that swayed the trees and shrubs of Ananthagiri Hills sent one final gust down the city's winding passages, as if to wipe the sweat off Tirth’s face. It felt like a last-ditch attempt to pacify his resentment toward the city of Hyderabad, this sun-scorched stretch of the Deccan Plateau for its unrelenting heat. The lava rock beneath the land seemed to trap the sun’s fury, conspiring to evaporate every last drop of water. To Tirth, it often felt like the Hyderabad sun bullied him personally, a petty retaliation for his frequent comparisons to the gentler, kinder sun of Pauri in Uttarakhand. His friend Srujan, a Hyderabad native, didn’t seem to mind the heat. The two had studied in the same college, and now, after graduation, were job-hunting together, several interviews in, and still no luck.

Both headed toward the much Instagrammed RTC X Road, infamous for its midnight street food circus. They scoffed at the thousands milling about the street, calling them aimless, jobless, and possibly high on biryani fumes.

There were at least fifty biryani stalls operating from everything between mini-vans and scooters. Add to that: three dozen ice cream and milkshake carts, dosa stations, and an assortment of makeshift food stalls selling everything from shawarma to spiritual confusion. These joints vanish by sunrise and bloom again after dusk like nocturnal mushrooms. Apparently, anyone with a vessel and fire can sell food here — and the crowd? Always ready to buy.

Tirth muttered, “I swear, if I were God, I’d never forgive these rascals on Judgement Day for wasting precious human hours standing in queues for street biryani. Only low-intelligence, monkey-brained life forms queue up at midnight just to tease their taste buds.”

Srujan nodded, “And no one even cares about quality. Look at the hygiene. This isn’t food, it’s a bacterial festival.”

As they walked past a particularly chaotic corner, they spotted a couple engaged in what looked like an urban wildlife ritual. The girl was blowing soap bubbles; the boy was popping them - one with his nose, another with his tongue.

Srujan groaned, “What the heck is this nonsense? A new cringe unlocked. Guaranteed to explode on Instagram by tomorrow. Another wave of jobless noobs copying this shame.”

Tirth nodded solemnly, “True that. Another eye sore is imminent.”

Once the amateur bubble duo faded from view, their conversation returned to the food street phenomenon.

Srujan said, “I don’t know what’s happened to Hyderabad. There used to be a time when people went home after 7 PM. By 9, the roads were silent, only homeless people and the occasional thief remained. Now? The city wakes up at 10 PM. People pour into markets and food streets like it's a festival every night.”

Tirth pointed to the chaos, “And look how they throw money at mindless, unhygienic food.”

Srujan exhaled, “It’s not just the money. Look at the time !! it’s past 12:30 AM! There’s a family of five with two toddlers ordering ice cream. And over there a couple with a newborn!”

Tirth exclaimed, “And here a seventy-year-old couple asking for fried chicken! Every generation’s gone rogue. The entire food chain is broken , literally.”

They moved past the bubble-popping lovers, and other random people, stumbled upon another urban delight: a man in his forties, drunk, relieving himself generously onto a crumbling wall, like watering it to grow on height.

Tirth recoiled. “This is atrocious. This country will never become a developed nation. Look at this !! a fully grown man, urinating in public like it's a national sport.”

Srujan gagged. “Disgusting! If I had a gun, I’d shoot him first. The sheer notoriety of such men is next level. Only men in this society have such zero civic sense, it’s like decency was never in the syllabus.”

Tirth muttered, “Honestly, I just want to quit this place for a long, long time.”

The middle-aged man zipped up and wobbled away into the night, unaware that he’d just been verbally executed, chest full of imaginary bullets. But he wasn’t the only one shot at.

Tirth and Srujan continued their tirade

The shop owners got fired at for pandering to the lowest common taste buds.The civic authorities were belted for enabling what they now called the Great Night Food Scam.Elderly folks received verbal slaps for turning up at 1 AM like it was a family picnic.Even the police got their share, ghost officers for a ghost town that turned into a late-night carnival.

Nobody was safe. Everyone caught a stray.

Hours of wandering wore them down. Their breath grew shallow, their conversation sparse, their steps sluggish, and whatever freshness they once felt in their armpits, groins, and nape had long vanished. Their pants clung uncomfortably. Shirts soaked up sweat. The sharp glint in their eyes from 10 PM was now dulled by fatigue. Three hours of talking and walking had drained them.

Srujan's bladder was now swelling dangerously — a ticking water balloon. If the fluids inside him successfully reached the urethra and were expelled in a scientifically balanced process, it would be called “urination.” But he panicked: What if another Srujan sees me peeing in public, and wants to place bullet in my chest?

The heat, the sweat, the aching feet, the bloated belly, it was too much. His thighs began to twitch like Apple app icons waiting to be rearranged.

Srujan: “Bro, keep watch. I’m going behind that wall. Make sure no one sees me.”

Tirth, baffled at the request, after all, there were roughly 1,580 eyes in the vicinity, but nodded anyway.Tirth: “No worries, bro. Just finish it off.”

And like a dam letting go, Srujan unleashed a furious stream on the unsuspecting wall.

Meanwhile, Tirth took out his phone. The perfect moment to text his long-distance girlfriend.

Ruchi: Hey, what’s up?

Tirth: I’m walking through the Hyderabad night street. I really miss you here. This place is amazing , buzzing energy, lovely people, total vibe! You won’t find this kind of scene in Pauri.

Ruchi: I don’t know when you’ll come. I’m waiting for you.

Tirth: Anytime soon. But this city’s starting to feel like home. I want to make it yours too.

Ruchi: I’m really excited! Hope you get a job soon!

Tirth: Yeah, fingers crossed. Oh — and guess what? I picked up a cool trend from the city. We HAVE to make a reel of it.

Ruchi: Ooh! What trend?

Tirth: You blow soap bubbles, and I’ll pop one with my nose, and one with my tongue. It's this weird little game — total couple-goals stuff.

Ruchi: Awww, strange but sweet! Let’s try it for sure!

Tirth: Alright, gotta go. Talk later!

Srujan returned, lighter and visibly happier.

The two started retracing their steps. All their high-handed criticisms and sharp commentary had melted into the sweat on their backs. They were now just two tired, hungry guys in the middle of a humid night.

They surveyed food stalls with renewed interest — evaluating prices, portion sizes, and how to eat the most for the least. In the end, they circled back to a biryani joint they had earlier mocked.

The queue was still long. But the aroma was irresistible.

Srujan: “This looks like the best option for us.”

Tirth: “Yeah, I’ve seen some Instagram reviews. Seems like actual foodies like this place.”

Srujan: “The price helps broke guys like us. That’s why the crowd.”

Tirth: “Let’s add ourselves to the tail.”

Srujan: “Okay, math time. If billing takes 45 seconds per person and serving takes 30, with two people working... that’s 75 seconds per person. We're about 13th in the last quartile, probably 58th overall. So 58 times 75 seconds... about 70 minutes to eat. Still worth it, cheaper than most, and everyone’s raving.”

Sixty glorious minutes later after the monkey-brained precise calculations , they finally held steaming plates of spicy biryani in hand. They found a parked scooter, used its seat as their dining table, and dug in.

All their judgments, all their complaints forgotten !!

They ate like they had belonged here all along.

The shades of tongue: ever-shifting, sharp and elite when fueled by health and vigor, needy and deceptive when withered, mocking and scornful when resourceful, pleading and forgetful when parched. The tongue: a constant resource of human paradox, the very emblem of unfathomable hypocrisy.

¥¥ Anand