May in Mumbai is like being caught between a revolving door. On the one side life moves at its usual a hundred miles an hour pace. And on the other the oppressive heat urges your body to slow down. The result, a drenched out slugfest between what your body wills and your mind dictates.
Everywhere you see the signs of life wanting to slow down. The mornings are overweight with a pronounced lethargy. The air breathes heavily. Birds sing with a miser’s reserve. Even the trees stand still, deferring the burden of movement to a cooler day. Only the city roofs stands up to the offensive glare of the sun. Throwing a challenge to the naked sky.
And like the city roofs stand the people who built them. After all economics does not understand the weather. As you step out into the open the stifling heat rushes to greets you. Wrapping you in a warm claustrophobic hug. Your body tries to fight back. It tries hard. It tries to put out the flames with a self-induced downpour.
But this is a losing battle. You can’t defeat the heat. You can’t will the sun away. All you can do is wait. Wait for the sky to pull out those seductive clouds from its closet and to drape up in that rich velvet darkness. Wait for the sky to twirl around, showing-off it's new tantalising coat. Round and round and round. And with every twirl there escapes from its folds, tiny drops of ice cold water. The first showers that kiss the burning earth.
Everywhere you see the signs of life wanting to slow down. The mornings are overweight with a pronounced lethargy. The air breathes heavily. Birds sing with a miser’s reserve. Even the trees stand still, deferring the burden of movement to a cooler day. Only the city roofs stands up to the offensive glare of the sun. Throwing a challenge to the naked sky.
And like the city roofs stand the people who built them. After all economics does not understand the weather. As you step out into the open the stifling heat rushes to greets you. Wrapping you in a warm claustrophobic hug. Your body tries to fight back. It tries hard. It tries to put out the flames with a self-induced downpour.
But this is a losing battle. You can’t defeat the heat. You can’t will the sun away. All you can do is wait. Wait for the sky to pull out those seductive clouds from its closet and to drape up in that rich velvet darkness. Wait for the sky to twirl around, showing-off it's new tantalising coat. Round and round and round. And with every twirl there escapes from its folds, tiny drops of ice cold water. The first showers that kiss the burning earth.
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