Chilkuri Sushil Rao

  I was born here. The small old structure in the photograph is part of the Old Gandhi Hospital premises near Secunderabad Railway Station. On June 3, 2026, I visited the place to see how it looked. I knew that all the buildings had been razed to the ground several years ago, but I wanted to visit the place where I was born on January 10, 1968. All I could see from the outside was a heap of sand, mud, and debris—almost like a mountain. There used to be several buildings in Gandhi Hospital, housing numerous wards. The hospital was shifted to its present premises at Musheerabad during 2003–04. The new complex was constructed after the demolition of the Musheerabad Central Jail that once stood there. At the gate of what we now refer to as the "Old Gandhi Hospital" premises, the entry was completely blocked. I took a peek through the gaps and noticed some vehicles. If there were vehicles, I reasoned, the place could not be completely abandoned. I knew that for a fact because a po...

  The shop, as I noticed, had no name. The shop, as I soon discovered, however, had considerable fame. I stopped almost immediately when I noticed it. It caught my eye. My attention. It was for such things that I had a fascination. It was a two-wheeler mechanic's shop. So that should not arouse anybody's interest. It was, after all, a mechanic's shop, as I mentioned. Yet the very look of it fascinated me. A man inside the one-room shop was repairing a bike. He was sitting in the centre of the small shop and was engrossed in putting a bike back into shape. That should not be an unusual sight to be drawn to. But I was not only drawn to it, I stood in front of it for a while and looked at it thoughtfully. To me, it was a piece of art. A complete piece of art. The look was unique. On its walls were parts of the bikes that they repaired. To me, there was beauty in it. I saw it not as a mechanic's shop but as an art gallery. The entire shop as a piece of art. "Can I tak...