It is so hot I could melt.
Opened a bar of chocolate and the cocoa-milky pieces had gone soft like clay. I could mould them in any manner. I twisted one into the shape of a cone and then blew air into it. It was like a prelude to something wonderful and then slowly I let it down in my mouth. It stuck to the tongue; a brown-coated tongue I had. And then it slipped into my throat.
Heat. The sun seems hotter and brighter. My room is flooded with yellow and everything has shadows; they dance and I watch. My own private opera.
Heat. Clothes clinging, slightly wet with perspiration. I rush to change. And then comes the deodorant. Acacia. The talcum powder is drizzled over. White streaks like lightening.
Heat. Ice-cream, kulfi…I hold the bowl. It is too cold when just out of the refrigerator and the dry ice hurts the fingers. Eventually it releases me and icy steam circles it. The ice-cream melts slowly. I poke the spoon in; the creaminess surrounds it, overtakes it. I hold it for a bit and then I take a bite. The insides of my cheek go numb with the cold.
Heat. Warm winds blow in the face. The cheeks redden. A thin film of sweat forms on the upper lip. I wipe it clean before it attempts a kiss.
Heat. Just heat.