Yaadein cookies ke box ki tarah hoti hain. Ek baar dibba khula toh sirf ek cookie nahi kha paoge… (Memories are like a box of cookies. Once you open it, you can’t stop at just one).

For me, Hyderabad is that box of memories.
A city I have never visited, yet it has always felt familiar – woven into my childhood through stories and little souvenirs my father brought back.

My father, a State Bank employee, often travelled to Hyderabad for training. And each trip left behind something that carried the city into our home.

The first time, he got me a delicate pearl bangle and for my mother, simple earrings with a matching necklace. That’s when I learnt pearls aren’t always round and that Hyderabad is their true hub.

Another time, he shared stories of the Salar Jung Museum, especially the clock where a wooden man emerges every hour to strike a gong. We would listen to his description with rapt attention, and I still nurture the dream of visiting it one day along with Charminar.

And once, when he couldn’t find anything else, he brought back a box of Karachi Bakery biscuits.
The first bite was unforgettable – the fruity aroma blended with butter, the crunch of toasted cashews, the surprise of candied fruit, that light sweetness with a faint salty edge. Heavenly.

Years later, when I saw that same box again, all those memories came rushing back.
Life has offered me countless cookies since then – new tastes, new experiences, new wonders. But childhood memories are like those special ones you tuck away in a corner. They gather dust but never erased, and when something familiar appears again, they resurface with all their warmth and wonder.

Hyderabad may be a city I’ve never set foot in.
But in my heart, it will always remain a pure childhood memory – carried through stories, souvenirs, and the taste of a cookie.