Cruel Summer

Summer’s almost here. I know I am living in a city that brags of not having a hot summer but this time it’s different. Almost a month back we started to feel the intensity of the sun and after a brief period of a week – when things got a little cooler – it’s getting hot again. 

We remember a city through many things, including its seasons. And how a city treats us during summertime goes a long way into deciding how much we love the city. Summer also has its own food, and fruits. And that too becomes a memory of a city. Food and beverage.

The two hottest cities I have lived in are Hyderabad and Delhi.

Hyderabad is a strange city in which temperatures in the month of October could be more than May, suddenly. The sun glowers down on you with such fury that walls of houses stay warm till 3 a.m. in the morning. You don’t feel hungry. The Bengali expression “jol khabo” (eat water) is realized in its fullness. You gorge on water, so you never get to the point of being thirsty. In no other city have I woken up from fitful sleep or siestas, feeling more bereft of hope and meaning in life. Staring long into a vacuum, you wonder what to do, about nothing. Conversation stops, and if its revived, it’s on the dismal topic of the heat and how to cope with it.

Bangalore used to be pleasant. Every evening it received that very refreshing thing called summer showers. This made summers as eagerly anticipated as winters. It’s truly scary when a four year old import to this city like me speaks nostalgically about bearable summers. The degradation or loss of good climate should not be so brisk as to seem brusque.