it is as if, in the space of a millisecond, the geothermal molecules of the earth, inert and stable, are suddenly aroused from their winter slumber to scorch and roast the indian sub-continental landmass with a viciousness and wrath that is unimaginable.
as these climatic atoms agitate themselves into a frenzy of heat and dust, the temperate refuge of the winter solstice suddenly disappears giving way to an unforgiving envelope of primal heat and suffocating humidity.
in the instance of a nanosecond, the subcontinent starts baking. The heat burns with an intensity so belligerent that only few men and even less beasts dare venture out without purpose or ordination. both thirst.
this is the great indian summer, stifling all in its wake as it switches play in a prelude to the great southwest monsoon.
then, before the pied-crested cuckoo, or monsoon bird announces the deluge of rains that will quench the dying earth, appears the queen of all fruit in her seductive succulence:
the mango.
