Dear all,

Until I figure out how to add the date into the newsletter automatically, I will manually tell you that I am sending this to you (I hope) on Thursday, April 16 2026.

I was speaking to someone recently about what it's like to live in Hyderabad, where I was born and largely grew up. Intellectually, I know it is full of millions of people, each of whom must have an internal life that gives them colour and texture. Unfortunately, I mostly hate it here. There is a kind of familiarity I have with it that breeds high-grade contempt. 

On the other hand, my work is here and is likely to remain here. It's undeniably cheaper for me to live here than anywhere else in the world, given my standard of living. Just because for many years there hasn't been a single decent bookshop in Hyderabad is not a reason to consign it to mediocrity, probably. But I do remember what it was like to live in places where there are several bookshops. Where I might discover books that I didn't know existed. Where I could, moved only by the foolishness of judging books by their titles and covers, buy books with strange names.

I resent this lack of joy, though the means for solving this lack lie utterly and completely within my power. In this way, as in so many others, I am my own worst enemy.

What is funny is that despite my best efforts, I am Hyderabadi. The languages I speak are from here. My bad Hindi is Hyderabadi Hindi. When I cross the road, I hold out my hand to force oncoming traffic to stop, a right I was likely conferred at birth by the Nizam of Hyderabad - just like everyone else who lives here. King Canute has nothing on us.

It is therefore things that I do not naturally enjoy that I must instead take comfort in. It's heresy to admit this but - I wasn't a biryani fan for a long time even after I started eating meat. Or rather, it didn't strike me as different from other kinds of rice that I also loved. But that's because the biryani in Hyderabad is the best, and it's east to take the best for granted if it's all you've ever had.

(The best mangoes are Banginapalli mangoes traditionally grown in Kurnool district, and because I grew up eating them I can't understand any reaction to mangoes apart from "more", either. A friend once said the reason I couldn't imagine a bad mango was that I didn't live in a country without native mangoes, which I had to admit was a fair cop.)

I'm naturally predisposed not to enjoy things. I have a hater energy that I must resist. Some things are very easy to hate indeed, and the ease with which I hate them is not always related to their quality or their characteristics. Sometimes it's just related to how little I like to admit I am wrong.

I meant to write about bond yields this week but this came out instead. As part of the impetus for this was to do a newsletter about bond yields, I hope I will get to it next week.

Cheers,

mvs