It's officially summer in South Asia.
As most of you can guess, it means it's hot outside. But what is hard to imagine is what that exactly feels like. So I will try my best to explain.
I wake up in the morning drenched, despite a furiously spinning fan. The whole room smells of hot air and a layer of sticky dust has coated every object. I immediately jump into an ice cold shower and cool off to normal body temperature. Then I allow myself a couple minutes of AC as I put on leggings and a long sleeve dress (otherwise known as a Kurta). Those precious minutes of cool are vital or else my will power to get dressed would give out every morning. I wrap my hair as far away from my neck as possible, put on shades, grab an umbrella and brace the heat of the outside world.
It may seem as if I was exaggerating, but unfortunately I'm not. Literally within minutes of being outside I'm drenched once again. At any given moment my skin is moist, sticky, dirty, overheated and miserable. My head pounds in rhythm with the heat waves launched from the spicy South Asian sun and my eyes water beyond their normal capacity.
The heat heightens the slum stench and the pollution is squashed into an eye level cloud that suffocates even a garden of flowers.
And while I should hate every moment of it, quite the contrary is true. I love it. I love that all are equally susceptible to the heat without thought of caste or beauty. I love the feel of being at the mercy of a fan and being constantly aware of my body and it's reaction. I love the smells of humanity. And yet, at the end of the day, the reason I soak in the summer with joy, is because this is so different from anything I have experienced. This is India. It's exactly what I always dreamed it would be. It's exotic and perfect.
As most of you can guess, it means it's hot outside. But what is hard to imagine is what that exactly feels like. So I will try my best to explain.I wake up in the morning drenched, despite a furiously spinning fan. The whole room smells of hot air and a layer of sticky dust has coated every object. I immediately jump into an ice cold shower and cool off to normal body temperature. Then I allow myself a couple minutes of AC as I put on leggings and a long sleeve dress (otherwise known as a Kurta). Those precious minutes of cool are vital or else my will power to get dressed would give out every morning. I wrap my hair as far away from my neck as possible, put on shades, grab an umbrella and brace the heat of the outside world.
It may seem as if I was exaggerating, but unfortunately I'm not. Literally within minutes of being outside I'm drenched once again. At any given moment my skin is moist, sticky, dirty, overheated and miserable. My head pounds in rhythm with the heat waves launched from the spicy South Asian sun and my eyes water beyond their normal capacity.
The heat heightens the slum stench and the pollution is squashed into an eye level cloud that suffocates even a garden of flowers.
And while I should hate every moment of it, quite the contrary is true. I love it. I love that all are equally susceptible to the heat without thought of caste or beauty. I love the feel of being at the mercy of a fan and being constantly aware of my body and it's reaction. I love the smells of humanity. And yet, at the end of the day, the reason I soak in the summer with joy, is because this is so different from anything I have experienced. This is India. It's exactly what I always dreamed it would be. It's exotic and perfect.
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