Postcards from Towli Chowki: Dubai Dreams and Deccan Realities

In the dusty bylanes of Towli Chowki, Hyderabad, where the scent of kabsa mingles with the sharp hiss of pani-puri stalls, stories of faraway Gulf cities slip easily into everyday conversation. Here, passports are not just documents; they are dreams, bargaining chips, lifelines. Across generations, families have packed their aspirations into suitcases bound for Dubai, Sharjah, or Muscat, sending back not just money but fragments of another life: perfumes, fridge magnets, and WhatsApp calls timed to prayer. But what do these migrations mean for the women who stay back? For the corner shops painted in gold and glitter? For the silence that arrives when a dream doesn’t quite return home whole? In this piece, we ask six intimate questions to uncover what it means to live in a neighbourhood shaped as much by Deccan soil as by Gulf ambition.

Chowki Crossroads: Oud, Mandi, and Migration Histories

On any given evening, Towli Chowki feels less like a neighbourhood in Hyderabad and more like an echo of the Gulf. The fragrance of oud and musk drifts past perfume stalls, while steaming plates of mandi and grilled kebabs beckon from roadside eateries. In one modest kitchen, a cook ladles a Saudi-inspired rice dish topped with nuts and crisped onions, explaining, “My cousin brought back this style from Riyadh—it has become a part of our daily meals now.” The Gulf isn’t just a destination here; it’s a culinary and emotional presence, shaping taste, memory, and aspiration. The roots of this connection stretch back over a century, when Arab soldiers and merchants from Yemen arrived during the Nizam’s reign and settled in areas like Barkas. Over time, their traditions mingled with Hyderabadi culture, particularly in food, language, and fashion. In more recent decades, labour migration to the UAE and Saudi Arabia intensified this influence, transforming entire local economies, street styles, and even the rhythm of household routines.

Towli Chowki’s streets now reflect an even broader migration story. Beginning in the late 1990s, Nigerian and Somali students began to arrive in search of affordable education and a comparatively welcoming visa system. Many stayed on, establishing businesses in mini-markets, hair salons, and food stalls. “Where else can you buy egusi powder besides Iranian saffron and camel milk chocolate?” a vendor remarked. The area around Paramount Colony, often referred to as a “Mini Africa,” buzzes with a blend of Afro-Arabic and South Asian traditions.

Yet, not all migrations bring triumph. A domestic worker shared, “When my husband returned from Muscat with no job and no savings, neighbours stopped coming by. It was like we’d failed a test no one admitted taking.” In such cases, the emotional toll becomes visible in whispers and withdrawn invitations. Still, within the household, women often bear the brunt and the burden. “We're the ones budgeting the remittance, repaying debts, and keeping things running,” said a schoolteacher managing three children alone. Even when they are not the migrants themselves, their labour supports the migration economy. For younger women, dreams sometimes remain suspended. A student who hoped to pursue a hospitality course abroad recounted being told to “stay back and look after the house” because her brother had already gone to work in Dubai. “It was like our family had a quota for ambition,” she said quietly. 

Towli Chowki, then, isn’t just a site of departure or return; it’s a layered space of negotiation. Here, the scent of foreign perfumes mixes with the steam of lentils; Gulf dreams collide with Deccan realities; and global migration histories continue to be cooked, served, and stitched into everyday life.

Flavours Without Passports: Eating Across Borders in Towli Chowki

Towli Chowki’s streets are a feast for the senses, where every corner seems to serve a slice of another continent. The scent of slow-cooked lamb mingles with wafts of cardamom tea and peppery Nigerian stews. Far from being a fusion fad, this neighbourhood’s culinary scene is a direct result of its migration history, from Gulf returnees opening mandi kitchens to African students and families introducing their traditional recipes into the local mix.

Tucked near the main road, a modest eatery offers steaming plates of fahsa, haneeth, and khubz still warm from the tandoor. “When I eat here,” says a taxi driver who often brings his family for Friday lunches, “I don’t miss Oman as much. The meat here tastes like it was cooked in the desert winds.” These Arabian dishes, especially the slow-roasted mutton mandi and meat broth, have become everyday staples for many locals, whether or not they’ve ever stepped foot in the Gulf.

A short walk into Paramount Colony opens up another world altogether. Small cafes and stalls run by East and West African migrants serve dishes rarely found elsewhere in the city, jollof rice, egusi soup, suya skewers, and okra stews with fufu. A university student originally from Lagos shared, “I didn’t expect to find home food in Hyderabad, but this place has everything, even pepper soup just like my mother made.” These spots are not just places to eat; they are informal cultural centres where diaspora identity simmers in pots and spills over into conversation.

Al Saud Bait Al Mandi is perhaps the most iconic, packed on weekends with families savouring smoky haneeth and mutton mandi laid out on traditional floor seating. Further down the street, Spice 6, The Arab Villagio brings in crowds for its sprawling platters and signature Arabic coffee, while Aazebo, The Royal Arabian Restaurant, is revered for its rich fahsa and honey-drenched malawah. For those craving Nigerian delicacies, smaller, lesser-known kitchens near Paramount Colony and Sabza Colony serve hot bowls of pepper soup, fried plantains, and jollof rice, often cooked by community members from Lagos and Abuja.

Towli Chowki’s restaurant culture does more than satisfy hunger, it narrates stories of displacement, longing, and adaptation. In these kitchens, recipes are more than ingredients; they are memories carried across borders and translated into local flavour. As one home chef selling Somali rice dishes from her apartment put it, “People taste it and ask, ‘Where is this from?’ I tell them, This is also Hyderabad now.”

"Holding the Fort": Women, Migration, and the Invisible Labour of Towli Chowki

In Towli Chowki, where the promise of Gulf migration casts long shadows, it is often women who are left to steady the home in silence. While men board flights in pursuit of brighter futures, their wives, sisters, and mothers manage the realities left behind, rent, school fees, illnesses, and gossip. A school teacher juggling bills and raising three children remarked, “Just because our names aren’t on the plane ticket doesn’t mean we’re not part of the journey. We stretch every rupee that gets wired home.” These women take on the emotional and financial weight of survival, even as their labour remains largely unacknowledged.

In many families, female aspirations are still considered secondary. A young student who hoped to study hospitality abroad shared, “My brother was already in Dubai, so I was told to stay back and help around the house. As if one dream per family is enough.” Such stories speak to the silent trade-offs that structure gendered migration, where male ambition is fuelled by female compromise. According to recent reports, women from low-income households across Telangana are increasingly involved in migration decisions, but rarely benefit from them directly (Times of India, 2023).

Yet even within this hierarchy, spaces of resistance are forming. Small, women-run cafés and tutoring centres are emerging as safe public zones where women gather to talk, earn, and heal. “At least here, I can sit for a cup of chai without being stared at,” said a newly trained cook working in one such all-women kitchen near Paramount Colony. These pockets of independence may be small, but they signal a shift in narrative, from survival to self-determination.

In a neighbourhood saturated with the scent of ittar and the noise of daily hustle, it is the quiet labour of women that sustains Towli Chowki’s global dreams. Their struggles may be invisible, but their strength is deeply etched into the foundations of every remittance-funded home and Gulf-inspired recipe.

Streets of Return: Where the World Finds a Home in Chowki

Towli Chowki is more than a waypoint between Hyderabad and the Gulf; it is a neighbourhood stitched together by journeys both completed and interrupted. Its cafés and kitchens echo with accents from Riyadh, Lagos, Sana’a and Secunderabad, offering not just meals but memories. For every remittance sent, there is a woman recalibrating survival. For every migration story told, there are ten that remain unspoken in the smell of mandi, the rustle of passport files, or the silence after a phone call from abroad. What unfolds here is not simply an economic exchange, but a social choreography of ambition, absence, and adaptation. In its quiet resilience and layered tastes, Towli Chowki reminds us that migration is not always about departure; it is also about how the world arrives, settles, and slowly begins to feel like home.