Most people here don't believe me when I tell them I come from a city where it gets even hotter than New Delhi. It is true though. One day, back in 1990, it hit 122 degrees Fahrenheit, or 50 degrees Celsius, in my home town. I have had the soles of my shoes begin to melt. I have had the heels of my high heeled shoes sink into the melted street surface. I am familiar with hot weather. But this is going to kill me.
The problem with the heat here is that it brings power failures along with it, which means no air conditioning. It is true that we have a generator back up, but as the power dips, stops and surges back every few minutes for hours on end, the A/C units stop trying to keep up and just start blowing warm air. Plus, as the weeks of heat take their toll on the window units, (there is no central air) they stop working, one by one. Despite several repairs and assurances from the repairmen that they have been fixed, they still fail to blow anything but hot air.
The refrigerator and freezer can't keep our food or water cold. Water just pumped from the bore well provides a hot shower without the help of the water heater. Everything radiates heat, especially my children who insist on always being within six inches of me. Last night as Mr. Smith and I dragged ourselves into bed, we realized that even our mattress was radiating heat. Remembering a childhood trick I turned my pillow over looking for "the cold side". To my dismay I realized my choices were the hot side, or the sweaty side. Blech. We laid awake until 3:30am when the power finally stayed on long enough to cool the room to a bearable level.
But do you know what I hate the most? The one thing that really irritates me? As I complain about the heat that is making me cranky, I know that the vast majority of the people around me, even those living in the other beautiful homes on my street, have it far worse than I do, and that makes me feel like a spoiled child. Seriously...I can't even enjoy a good pout.
