Summer in the Sindh

I

Salim woke up to the sun in his face and promptly went to work. He wasn’t late, it was only about seven but it was summer in the Sindh province. Salim was grumpy and already very hot. Yesterday he didn’t sleep well even on his woven charpai which let the air flow beneath the body, as one lay down. The air had carried the fire of the heatwave across the dusty land into the night. Nothing Salim touched was cool – the water he splattered on his face, the towel he used to wipe his body and the road he took to the fields were all heating up. It was only seven but he hurried to the fields to get the mowing done before the sun became hot enough to melt rubber chappals.

II

The Homeless woke up to the sun in his face and squinted. Blearily he sat up and flailed his hands in a stretch. He rubbed his eyes and got dust in them. They stung when he opened them –the poor man had sat up facing the east. Dust clothed one’s body when one rolled about in streets. He would brush but there was no water, he would bathe but there was no water, he would drink but there was no water. It seemed the sun was hotter earlier today –the Imam of the mosque had just said his prayers and the Water-bearer had not passed. Throat parched, the Homeless scrambled for his pipe, leaned against the wall and inhaled the drugs to forget the heat and thirst.

III

Nooran walked 10 kms to the nearby school daily. Like everyone else she wore cottony shalwar kameez. The loose trousers, long-sleeved tunic and head-scarf of the suit protect one’s skin from scalding. It was just after seven but the ORS water her school told her to carry was heating up. She went to the Ice-seller’s donkey cart to buy ice. Otherwise the water would become too hot for her throat before the hour was up. She had a full day of classes to survive where a power blackout could still the only fan in the room. The Water-bearer spilled water from his jerricans as he jogged on. The splashed water turned to steam before it could wet the earth. Nooran heard the hiss of water turning to steam and yearned for the punch Policemen handed out in the market during these heatwaves.

IV

It was 52 degree Celsius yet Salim worked. The field had to be ploughed and the seed sown. The irrigation pump stopped in the middle of siphoning water deep inside the earth onto the fields –the electricity had gone out again. If he stopped, he wouldn’t get paid. When siesta hour came Salim headed towards his tiny mud house to escape the midday sun and checked on the wheat stored there –away from the drying sun. A solar panel in the courtyard powered one ceiling fan that just pushed the hot air around. Salim felt dizzy. He headed to the pharmacy in the market to pick up rehydration salts. His chappals slapped up dust and soaked up the heat. The shops in the market had closed their curtains to keep the heat out. ACs were too expensive and didn’t last in the Sindhi heat as was evident by the long line of broken ACs inside the Mechanic’s shop. Salim collapsed on the streets.

V

The Homeless staggered through the streets in a drugged high. He made incorrigible noises –left hand clutching his throat. The other pulled on the roots of his knotted hair and pointed to his mouth alternately. His right foot caught on a stone and he slammed onto the dirt road. The Water-bearer halted –clothes soaked in sweat. He doused himself with water and carried on. Customers milled at the thadel shop –the poppy and rose flavoured syrup cooled their souls more than it cooled their bodies. The Mechanic who fixed ACs also took an impromptu shower, in the middle of repairing a tractor, to battle the stifling heat. The Driver sweared that the blaring Sindhi pop-tunes from the tractor took his mind off the heat.

VI

Everyone in the Province had a siesta from noon to three o’clock in summer. The market transformed into a ghost town at the stroke of noon. The buffaloes and street urchins submerged themselves in muddy streams to cool off. Only the Gateman still stood guard outside the school. The children were cramped inside the classroom but safe from the loo. The Gateman wore a traditional red cap with tiny mirrors. He felt his brain roll underneath the cap. During the siesta hour, the Gateman complained about the unbearable heat and often argued with the Tea-seller. The Tea-seller stood by the hot beverage as a remedy to heat but the Gateman favoured frequent rests under trees –trees that had been cleared for firewood years back. Everyone in town wondered how long they could survive the heat when every summer was becoming hotter, longer and drier than the last. As such they only focused on living through another day in the heatwave.

VII

Nooran took a glass of the punch she had waited for all afternoon from a policeman on her way home. She crossed the market and reached the common wall between the mosque and the burial ground. There was a procession being lead from her house to the burial ground. People beckoned her to join –their faces full of pity. She loved processions but this one was too quiet for her, having no noisy loudspeakers or street dancers. Instead she headed towards the mosque. The Homeless was grovelling in the dirt there, the high of the drug gone. He looked dead to her. Nooran bent over and offered him her punch. He received the glass and croaked his shukriya. The Imam declared that Salim was dead –a heatstroke took him. Night fell. Summer nights were seldom restful in the Sindh province.  The Mechanic carried his charpai to find a cool area to sleep for the night. The Ice-seller put his donkey to work on powering his ceiling fan. The Driver took his tractor to till the fields while the sun was gone…If one stopped work every time the temperature soared past 50 degree Celsius nothing would ever get done in summer in the Sindh.