The height of summer is making folks, sweat and swear, and people like me to express our heat in words.
Most homes are like ovens, or tandoori pots, whose walls could bake chappathis and nan.
We are in the village with a few trees here and there, practically very little of the jumble and crowd of a city dwelling with vehicles. The tar on the road has not yet started to melt , but I heard it has started in some towns.
The situation is making us feel,if this could be the start of the desertation of the ground , and desertation of the people to another place, for want of coolness and water.
Those who could afford a cooling fan, it is practically on rotation all the hours when the electricity is available, for those who cannot, it is the hand fan made of bamboo, or the simple newspaper.
The deforestation is noticeable,and a pity there are no shaded trees for the weary traveler, on the road sides, the rains seem to evade our land, and the cool breeze a rare few moments in the evenings.
Last night we went on to the terrace to sleep, the air conditioning system failure let us enjoy the full moon luster of the cosmic beauty, with the cooling fan, which was hot, to keep off the mosquitoes.