Every May it remains the opening gambit in conversation. The heat. Is it hotter than the day before? Could it be the hottest day of the year? This monotonous discussion goes on in trams, buses, in offices and restaurant every year. Special trains are introduced to carry the fortunates to the hill or sea resorts to cool off, at least temporarily. Unfortunates brave the heat of the town.
It is dificult to sleep late when the sun rises so early and birds caw and chirp relentlessly. The cool breeze makes people want to stay out as late as they can at nigh, but not in cinema halls. Poor airconditioning makes them unbearably uncomfortable.
Ice-cream parlours are raking in their summer profits. Ice does not form in refrigerators. It is in great demand. Milk curdles easily. Appetites wither. Cut fruits and juice merchants do brisk business. "Thanda meetha !" call the sherbert men, "Thanda meetha!" Mangoes turn a luscious yellow. Watermelons almost burst with goodness. They improve in such dry heat. Flower trees are blazes of gold, purple and red. Skins tan into darker shades. Women sport umbrellas, men acquire dark glasses. Members of clubs dip in and out of swimming pools. The less inhibited prefer the camaraderie of bathing at street hydrants.
It is cooler to walk in the shade than to ride in closed cars, trams and buses. Passengers lean out of even double-deckers to catch a breath of air. May is hot but healthy. Once the monsoon breaks there will be no south breeze. There will be greater humidity and its attendant ills-perspiration, chills, epidemics, waterlogging, and a longing for the coolness that arrives with the pujas.
