Indian Summer

@yamika.gandhi

Heat radiates from the
Stoned pavement stretching in front of me

So intense,

That if I took off my chappals,

The skin of my feet would get scorched.

The air shimmers

Like how it does in deserts and forms mirages

Or like how it does above

A pan of boiling water.

Dust rises up with the wind
Gets into my eyes

My mouth
My wet, washed hair
Sticks to my ice-lolly

I bathe twice a day
Yet it doesn't wash the pollution away.
I can't believe there are people who
Mock me for wanting to plant trees.
I would, but they always die.

I throw away the popsicle
Go home, look around
How can I battle the Indian summer?
I open the fridge,
Nothing
But a half-ripe mango,
Covered in pesticide, I bet.

I would cycle, but someone has
Let the air out of the tyre.
I would sing, but my throat is parched
And honey doesn't help much.  
I would smoke like countless other teens, but
I'm too familiar with the photos of blackened lungs.
I would meet up with friends, but they
Are too busy building their careers
Now that school is over.

So I flop down onto the bed
The cotton feels hot.
The only cooler is in nani's room
We're a middle-class family, dad says,
We can't afford more.
So I sprinkle the bedsheet
With cold water
And go to sleep.