This latest update, hot off the press from the stuffy insides of my mind is inspired by the weather. Yep, it is officially that time of year people. So brace yourselves, because the complaints are about to roll in.
It is that time of year when, quite unknowingly, we have once again grown accustomed to keeping the air conditioning on all night, without feeling the slightest discomfort that usually results in VC hogging the blanket because he’s too bloody cold, and me berating him for wanting the air conditioning on to begin with. Sleep is a state of bliss. At 20 degrees C.
The impossible happens around this time of year. For a few months, I remember again that it is possible to survive without a mindless addiction. To tea. I have slowly given up my mid-morning cup of tea, and as of day before yesterday, the evening dose too. And so far there have been no reports of unexplained, banshee-like howling reported in these parts.
At the gym, I was always a sweat ball. It barely takes three songs for my teeshirt to be soaked, my face shiny and for me to start reaching out for a drink of water every chance I get. But now, I am breathless and melting away in record time. People pretend to admire my “perspiration” as a mark of my “hardwork” of course, but what they really mean to say is hey, your crotch is wet and we’re not sure what that is.
Also ass-marks have usually make a spectacular comeback this time of year. No workout is complete without those glorious lines accentuating my most unflattering bodypart, those marks that leave a damp magic 8 on the ground, every-time I sit down and stand up again. It’s hard not to notice the ample marking that reads Revati was here.
Daily showers now happen in multiples of two. And they have silently slipped into purely cold region of the mixer, without even the customary 10-minute geyser run (because I usually hate getting into the shower and having my cojones woken up by the cold).
As per the usual, I am whipping up my faux-buttermilk (new variety! Half a pod of garlic, a big knob of ginger, a few black pepper corns, a sprinkling of jeera — all whizzed up in the mixie, with the curd!) by the pint. I pour it out in pilsner glasses, and drink multiple glasses across the afternoon, as I brood over my writing. Every writer has his poison. Mine’s buttermilk. Or something like that.
Of course the by-now accepted, and almost anticipated seasonal heat boil has also reared its ugly head. This time of year is incomplete without a few hot, pink bumps showing up in unexpected areas, chosen to cause maximum discomfort. Usually a butt-cheek for best results. Okay, the back for some lucky lot. And it becomes impossible to eat Sunday eggy breakfast, or super spicy biryani or some such without considering the possible outcomes with every bite.
And then there is this phenomenon called prickly heat. Adventurous bugger, manages to scope out some new nether region or the other. And he gets better every year, taking things up a notch, upping the challenge and making it impossible to keep the area damp-free and/or itch-free.
All the unkind folks in Bangalore and Hyderabad will soon start gloating with facebook updates about surprise showers, weirdly-cool misty mornings and sometimes even hail! I will look at it all and boil silently. I will say ha! I take your hailstorm and raise you a sunset on the beach. Beer in hand, if you’re feeling like a little drinkie. But that is only sour grapes.
However, to really make myself feel better and avail the benefits of said beach, there will be odd beach trip or two. Entire days spent crisping in the sun, because when you’re outdoors in a swimsuit its a totally different story. Thankfully the beer is cheaper than water, so we survive.
The mornings aren’t too bad, but as post-lunch time draws near, I feel myself turning into a slightly cranky old wench. The afternoon night is positively blinding and unless I plan to roam around the house wearing RayBans I am forced to draw the curtains, turn my study into a dungeon and cut the light out completely. The sight of the fan spinning full speed might be momentarily comforting, until you enter the room to realise it’s just churning a big column of hot air around you. No so comforting anymore. Altogether oppressing actually.
But, there is a silver lining. Quite literally. And come sun down, I step out into the balcony and try and take it all in. Because bitching heat, sweaty days and nights and soaring tempers aside, March has been a month of gorgeous skies.
Yeah, yeah you can mock me all you like and say maybe this too is a case of sour grapes. But just look at those skies, will ya?!