Yes its here. Beating down with its signature ferocity. Delhi summer - a cruel counterpart of its much applauded cooler cousin - dilli ki sardi. With the summer here its back to the rigmarole of trips.
Trips to the parlour. Getting waxed an innumerable number of times till the bagfulls of money drowned down that losing battle against all surfaces hairy and the pain incurred becomes one incoherent mass of bewilderment. I fail to understand the obsession with smooth hairlessness that captivates every female fancy. Its expensive, barely lasts a week or two AND is painful. But I'll have to vouch for the satisfaction quotient that transcends all. Mere men will not understand the pure bliss of a smooth arm (dreamy look). We women inflict ourselves with horrendous tortures (read makeup, high heels, waxing blah blah). I thought we were extremely foolish to do so because the people who matter (or are at least supposed to matter, i.e. guys) don't really notice any of the preening. I thought so until a few weeks ago. But hell they notice and that's where this turns into a vulgar nightmare (Did he see my arms that day? Did he notice my beautiful moustache? He surely couldn't have seen my hairy legs - wasn't it dark? ) But let me not digress into hairy horrors and subsequent tales of woe.
Trips to the corner shop. For another bottle of sunscreen. A mindlessly weird invention.
"Madamji more the SPF more the protection"
(and the price ..baah)
I religiously decide to splatter myself with liberal amounts of the gooey stuff the entire summer. Two seconds into the sun and I am brown as a nut. This time a profusely sweating brown nut with sunscreen making me feel like a lathered sud. And I'm shining like a brand new coin, glistening madly in the sun. Ughhh.
Trips to the loft (yes it IS a trip when you have to pull down bags and suitcases of summer clothes and replace them with winter woollies). This trip has a happy ending because at the end of it you find yourself sipping a cool drink, wearing your favourite pair of shorts. Aaahhh freedom :)
Trips in the bus.
Q: What's worse than sweating in a DTC bus?
A: Being pushed into another person's sweatiness.
And inspite of all this I prefer summers to winters. Why? Search me for the answer. I'm still busy wondering.