As she sat there in the golden glow of the sun looking at the summer foliage, small beads of sweat trickled down her flushed face

In the books that I have read from time to time, I have noticed that the summer is many a times written rather poetically. One word that has often been used to describe the weather is 'balming'. Reading books about the balming summer in the south would always bring images of sitting on the porch and drinking lemonades. This world might not seem completely comfortable but it was pretty and nostalgic nonetheless.

Now I am in Chandigarh and it is hot here, hotter than I remember from my earlier years. There is a porch, there is lemonade and it is what they might call balming, but there is nothing fucking poetic about it. So to all the writers who want to write about summer but have clearly never lived through one, here is my tip. If you want your readers to really feel what your characters are supposed to be feeling, next time you write about summer, mention phrases like sweaty clothes, smelly bodies, blotchy skin and never ending wait for the rain (Yes - we wait and hope even if there is not a single cloud in the sky).

And refrain from making your characters touch each other, unless you want it to lead to melting flesh and emergence of zombies. Ok? Ok.

From the deep end of the ocean

Everyone has heard about the Air France flight that went missing over Atlantic. I have been following this news, looking at pictures of relatives waiting at the airport for the news about their loved ones. "Loved ones", that is how it is always written. May be they are not looking for their loved ones, but just for people they are responsible for and are actually annoyed at the additional responsibility of filling the forms and showing up at the airport.

For some this event might make them feel a little important; being a part of an international news. Being one of the 228 (or less) families that are directly affected by this. This would be a story they would tell for years. There would be some small details that would get magnified in their memories and would keep getting added to the story. He almost missed his flight. She told me that she was feeling uneasybefore this flight for some reason. He always joked about plane crashes and told me how it was statistically safer than road travel.

Then there are those for whom their world disappeared along with that plane. And no amount of logical explanation will convince them that no one is coming back.

(a part of me wishes I was on that plane - lost never to be found)