Of summer, sweat and a bit of endurances. (Caption) __ I'm already damp with sweat. Blobs of salty water blots here and there on my burnt skin. My blue cotton t-shirt and striped linen trousers are tightly wrapped around my bony figure, as if they're gorging on the pungent sweat. Beams of rays are effortlessly peeping in. Crevices are all done. Bougainvilleas I gathered yesterday, lie dry on the window ledges. The novel I was reading yesterday is perching on the broken table with one extra bookmark. My pocket notes haven't fluttered in the past 5 hours. My pen hasn't rolled yet. Curtains - unmoved. Daily calendars not yet striped off. Things are dead slow. Air is thick with languidness. As if a stop button has been pressed! I could hear a kulfi-man hitting the bell yonder. A dog howling. Women gossiping. Tap water running in my restroom. Plus, splashing of water. Radio playing somewhere. Cling-cling sound of bangles. A two-wheeler outstripping a rickshaw. And, a lot more. I could smell overcooked rice. Hot air is bringing the flavour of egg scrambles. Someone's cooking chicken too. But, the heavy smell of my sweat is transcending all other smells. I worsened the situation by getting scratches from edges of the wardrobe while rearranging my cloths. It hurts. It hurts mentally too. For summer has always been like this, but this predicament is new. It pains inside, to see me dying in this sultry weather. Alone. All alone. I could listen to the hushed screeching of my soul, suffocating in this sweat-drenched body. Moreover, a numb body. Numb with too much of endurances. It's tired, this body. It's tired of sweat. For sweat reminds it of your forced, rugged touches. Your harsh stroking and squeezing. The way your smoke-laden breaths hit it, violently. How it sweated! This body! On that winter night. Maybe, that's why this summer is way too hard on me. On the hidden parts. On the dismissed ones. I wonder if summer will wrap the sweat and suffocation along with it, when it departs. I wish.
