Records, they say, are meant to be broken.
Not this kind though. Delhi is in the midst of its hottest summer; some 62 year old records have gone tumbling. The weather department predicts more of the same: read hot mornings, unbearably hot afternoons and hot evenings followed by stuffy nights. The ubiquitous common man is no longer so ubiquitous. In fact, come afternoon, he goes missing. The ice cream vendor dozes off, the rickshaw pliers rest under a shade, the auto-wallahs cool off with a soft drink. And office-goers prefer to stay indoors. The roads, mirage and all, wear a lonely look. It is bright and sunny, and nobody is happy and giggling.
The few who do brave the heat do so hoping to catch up with a jaljeera seller along the way. Their bodies covered in loose cotton clothes, their faces hidden behind dupattas or stoles, their heads draped as well, the men and women on bikes and scooters, roads and pavements, resemble aliens. They could as well be setting off for another planet. Their destination though is just their office in the mornings or home late evenings. Except that even late evenings resemble mid-afternoon with blistering loo blowing across the city.
The unforgiving summer though does have its, well, sunnier side. For instance, the air cooler-wallahs. They do brisk business. Or those merry kids, who on seeing the slightest sign of water – matters little even if it is from the NDMC taps and pipes – play with abandon. Their laughs unending, their clothes all wet with water, they, like those bikers and ‘scooterists’, too could be from another planet.
But here and now in Delhi, in the harshest of summers when dogs sit with wagging tongues and sparrows don’t close their beaks, life is one long challenge. Monsoon, anyone?
