Finally, the summer season has arrived in Delhi, or as I know it, the season to hear “Go home and take a shower, you sweaty stinking idiot”. Delhi summer is just like any other summer, except with 22 hours of power cut and people prepared to kill for a bottle of cold water. The power situation got a little out of hand last season, because I ordered an Ice Tea at some place where the manager was so delirious due to electrolyte imbalance that the response I got was “HAHAHA BC ICE WO KYA HOTA HAI?”
It is also the season of relative ease in getting laid, just change your display pic on Tinder to a working Air Conditioner, and wait for magic to happen. There are other reasons too that the Delhi summer is called ‘the season of paradox’, because the metro is more crowded than ever, people tolerate even Sonakshi Sinha’s movies for air conditioned theatres, and drinking road-side lemonade is OK knowing that a heat stroke can kill you much earlier than Hepatitis A and Cholera.
Delhi summer is not actually that bad, because it also brings with it the mini-skirts and pool parties, which I could care less about because, you know, Aukaat, as neither do I get invited to any of these, nor do I possess the physical structure to carry off
mini-skirt swimming tights. My triceps are so flabby, it can make Ganesh Acharya’s paunch look like a six-pack.
The summer season also brings with it the annual sale, which I make use of every year by buying the most hideous pair of Puma shoes, just because they give 70% off on it. In a way, it makes me cheaper than dialogues in a Prabhu Deva movie, but I don’t care because the fluorescent orange and peacock green on my shoes makes them the only man made thing visible from moon, other than Anushka Sharma’s lips and the Great wall of China.
This summer (hopefully) will be better because Kejriwal has promised free hand-held rotatory fans and cold water upto 300ml for every family*.
*Conditions apply: The family must not have a working refrigerator or earthen matka at home, and the daily intake of fluids must not exceed 4 small cups per person, including evening tea.
Other than the above fictional blabbering, not a lot would change during the summers, as Rahul Gandhi would still be absent from the parliament, Prabhu Deva would still be creating pornographic versions of South Indian action movies, and we will again be wasting our rare, hard-earned electricity units watching athletes play fixed and/or scripted tournament, also known as the IPL.
Advise as a doctor: If you are sweating, Keep Calm and Use that Towel. No! Not you, Sreesanth!