It is hot in Delhi. Summer has arrived in spring with a vengeance. You step outside only to be assaulted by thick, hot air, enveloping you like an oven. Air conditioners offer some respite, but only a little. Even sitting expends energy, leaving you coated in a thin sheen of sweat. Cold water has ceased to flow from the taps, heated to warmth by the sun’s rays penetrating the water tank on the roof, and under my feet, the usually cool tile floors feel gritty with dust brought in by the desert winds.
But in the sluggish stillness, there is one redeeming factor. The thick, sweet smell of ripening mangoes fills the air. And I smile, thinking of treats to come, ice cold mangoes fresh from the fridge touching my tongue.
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