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Every Number Above Blood Temperature is Just Another Number

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A heat wave climb above the blood temperature of 37° is all the same. 40° feels the same as 44° feels the same as 46°. Just ‘insert expletive’ sweat drenching, energy sapping, dehydration inducing HOT!

Hiding indoors, under fans, in the flow of the cooler becomes cabin feveresque. The yearn for outside, ‘fresh’ air, builds and torments through the day, finally two hours before sunset, 4.30pm, the cork finally blows. The need overflows, the pressure releases and the door is vented as stridently the legs venture forth hitting the wall of stifle, a sci-fi force field in the now omniverse, the stifleverse, a solid environcement. Luke would feel the force approaching the Deathstar Sun, the Star Trek Enterprise bridge would lurch as it hit , throwing its crew into shapes not dissimilar from those bodies sat in plastic chairs in the shade of trees, lounged like accidents in off-duty rickshaws or under the makeshift tarps of street sellers.

The cooler, away from tarmac and concrete, Hemkunt Park beckons, a short, nonetheless, sweat wrangling walk. Searching out a bench in the shade not already draped with a snoozing figure though every seat has been super-heated to skin searing radiance. Incredible flora distracts, trees seemingly in constant blooms of pin-bright yellows, deep scarlets and suave purples, great bushes of pinks in a mirage-haze of rainbow butterflies.  Every flora a parliament perch of ceaselessly chattering palm squirrels loudly debating with fluorescent green, bickering parrots called to order by wise, old, iridescent black rooks, nervous attendants of grey-suited pigeons mingle in the background while whips of snide, little minor birds poke about in tight-black adorned with white wigs , the whispering advisors conspiring behind.

Thick snakes of water pipes slither through the parched and patchy grass with its rush hour of hurrying juggernaut ants carrying their loads to great underground depots. Python pipes morph into cobras contorting their S-necks to rise up, mouths agape, protecting their sodden, softened territory. Instead of fearful bite or venomous spray, an offer of sprinkler relief to dodge and dance under, inviting and welcoming into each circle of reach, glistening droplets arching through sun rays, a million prismatic liquid gems, priceless jewels in the unrelenting heat. Central earth squishes beneath feet, full of life-giving moisture. On the periphery, skyfall streams upon hard-packed, hydrophobic earth leaving darkened clouding, shrinking in the glare and oven-air, baked out to pale soil again within seconds, to await a next swish of spray. Here the flaccid, thirsty grass is never slaked, the poor cousin to the richly green, central thicket standing proud, curving arrogantly, noses aloft and backs turned towards the needy relatives.
Even the grass mimics human society in heat-wave Delhi.

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