Blame it on the weather

I will never stop talking about the weather simply because I can’t help it. If you’re one of those people whose moods succumb to the rise and fall of the mercury, welcome to my planet.

It still baffles me how a country can go from zero degrees to 43 in such a short span of four months. I used to hate winter. It rendered me practically immobile: the only place I can fully relax is huddled directly in front of the blower. I couldn’t wash my hands as often as I would like because they froze and dried up like prunes. Going dancing was not as appealing because it would entail a freezing ride on an open-aired rickshaw. Taking a shower took ten minutes tops, otherwise I would start shaking. Work would be disrupted every now and then because my knees would buckle, begging for more coverage under my jeans.

And then summer came and I longed for winter again, something I never thought I would have the desire for. A friend once said that it’s easier to keep yourself warm during winter than it is to keep cool in the summer. I disagreed vehemently (you can tell that he said this during winter). Now I understand what he means.

Coming from a tropical country, I know I shouldn’t complain because compared to the English and Irish and Scottish (fellow volunteers who have slaved here in India like I do), my body should be more acclimatized to the heate. But come on, 36 degrees in Manila is a long stretch from 43 in Delhi. Here’s what I mean:

the mattress is burning. It is freakin’ hot. Like it just came out of a brick oven. It’s an inedible, rectangular pizza and I am the greasy topping.
the bathroom walls and floor are warm. It’s a virtual sauna minus the luxurious perks.
sweat – buckets full. Will not go into the details. It could get graphic.
open-aired rickshaws. As much as they allowed the cruel gale that went straight to your skull in winter, it is a giant, mobile hair dryer in summer.
drinking water – whoever said that you should drink at least eight glasses of water a day has never been to India. One liter you say? How about three. Including those you gobble up in the middle of the night.
hunger – every hour, on the hour. The heat just zaps out all your energy prompting you to crave for every imaginable edible thing. Including your colleague’s lunch.
everything you touch or sit on is exponentially warm. Including the toilet seat.

My flatmate Melanie had a brilliant idea the other day. She said that she’ll put the lining of her mattress in the freezer for a short while then retrieve it just in time for bed. I thought it was pure genius. But the fridge took the best time to be lazy and refused to fulfill its purpose of keeping food fresh and churn ice for its dehydrated masters.

She also had this plan of breaking an egg on the pavement and see if it would really sizzle. But Delhi hasn’t reached 46 or 47 degrees yet, which locals say it would. And the air is still dry, the onset of the monsoon coupled with humidity would be worse. Which would predictably lead to any, or heaven forbid, all of three things: prickly heat, road rage, more weight loss. Blame it on the weather.