A couple of days away and you start to believe. A couple of days spent at higher ground and you start to persuade yourself that it will be over. And then the wheels hit the runway tarmac, the door opens and you're besieged by bright light and a suffocating humidity.
Everyone tells me the summer this year has been milder than almost ever before. That may be so but people also agree that it is enduring as it always is.
By late August you might think the worst of the heat would be gone, but India is still sweltering.
I think I simply have to accept that the summer here lasts six months. Part of the trouble is that nature herself fools you into believing autumn is about to break. One day might be damp and mild, leading you to think that the season is about to change and then the next morning you're woken by the early white lights pouring through the blinds, warning that the day ahead is going to be a scorcher.
While, of course, I like to complain about the weather, I'm less keen to let it put us off doing things. A case in point was last night, which was the festival of Janmashtami, which celebrates the birth of the Hindu god Lord Krishna.
In parts of the country, particularly in Mumbai, the day is celebrated by young men forming huge human pyramids from which they break open clay pots. There was no such drama on our neighbourhood, but the local Hindu temple was hosting an evening of celebrations, dancing and prayers.
Knowing the temple would be stuffed to the rafters with devotees, we wore our lightest cotton clothes and waited until the festivities were underway before heading down there. As it was we stayed for an hour before quitting for the comfort of the A/C back at our apartment.
It was only today that I learned that the real celebrations did not get going until at least midnight, the moment of Khrisna's birth. By then, I imagine things had really warmed up.
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