Updated On: 11 June, 2023 07:27 AM IST | Mumbai | Paromita Vohra
Any day now, we are told. A meditative patience is called for, but Americans have strangely not yet invented hot meditation.

Illustration/Uday Mohite
In Bombay, we are stewing on that thin line between giving up the ghost and keeping hope alive. Yaniki, the fortnight between summer and monsoon.
Summer has cooked and booked us. Alphonsos have ceased to console. Images of concave maidens in mulmul, trailing mogras and gravely eating melon in cool, dark havelis no longer evokes vintage summer nostalgia, only hatred. The alleged sensualities of summer have given way to the grim truth of sweat. We are miserably, restlessly waiting for the rains. Any day now, we are told. A meditative patience is called for, but Americans have strangely not yet invented hot meditation.