Midnight in Delhi

Our whole family was awake. Every one of us drenched in sweat. Was it 1a.m. or 2a.m.? It didn’t really matter. We were suffocating in the claustrophobic midnight heat deep into a Delhi summer. The days were oppressively hot, often touching 100°F and then pushing higher. The nights brought thin relief, but with the power out and no breeze through the apartment complex, the bed sheets clung to your body and had to be peeled off when you sat up.

Nights were a chance to escape the heat, to rest and recuperate. But when the bij (my Dad’s vernacular of “bijali” the Hindi word for electricity) went out, there was no ceiling fan to move the air and help you float off to sleep. The precious fridge, our shrine for heat-mitigating cold drinks, was off limits since there was no knowing how long the power would be off for and we couldn’t risk letting the cold air out. Wide awake and sticky, I decided to take a shower in an attempt to get comfortable. I stepped into the humid bathroom, took an unwelcome breath of soupy air and turned on the shower. The warm water rushed over me just like the disappointment and I felt no relief. In many Indian homes there is a large water tank on the roof of the house. This tank bakes in the sun all day until your only choice is to use warm water. So with the shower failing to bring respite, I laid back down on my warm bed and closed my eyes in the darkness and waited hopelessly for sleep to take me or the power to return and save me.

It was an uncomfortable and sleepless night. But the sense of relief I felt when I heard the whir of the three-bladed metal fan on the ceiling is hard to recreate. Not every night of Indian summer was like that. Far from it. Summer in India was time spent with family after being away in boarding school, it was hot auto-rickshaw rides to church, enjoying the air conditioning at the Mall or movie theater when there was no power in our neighborhood. Summer in India was busy mornings and slow afternoons. It was the whole family sleeping in our one air-conditioned room. Summer in India was reading the newspaper shirtless on the edge of the couch, drinking hot coffee on a hot morning. It was ice cold Coca-Cola, fresh lime soda, Domino’s pizza, Lays potato chips and salty fruit. Yes, salty fruit (when you sweat through your clothes everyday and your body craves salt like a drug, you will put salt on anything). Summer in India meant extreme heat but it also meant one of God’s great gifts to humanity: mangos. Big, ripe, juicy, sweet mangos. For bonus I’ll throw in summer in Pakistan with its mosquito nets, malaria, rose-water popsicle bags, dusty roads and mountain getaways.

But going back to that one particularly swampy night. I am not sure why that one night sticks in my memory more clearly than the others. It is only one of many memories woven into the fabric of my childhood making me who I am today. I’m sure everyone has memories like this one. Seemingly insignificant, yet strong enough to be remembered decades later. Sure it may be anecdotal, but I think memories like this prove the goodness of God. It’s not a particularly pleasant memory and yet it points to a heritage that I am incredibly proud of. Sweating in the steamy air that night may not have been a blessing, but it is a thread in the beautiful tapestry of the greater blessing of God gifting me the experience of living in a wonderful land like India. It’s important to remember that unpleasant memories don’t exist in a vacuum. Often, time and a few steps back can reveal the greater pattern that was being stitched. The unsightly knot was a piece of a more beautiful and grand design. I wouldn’t exchange that memory for all the air conditioners in America.

But presently, I plan on keeping the AC installed in my bedroom window.

Peace. And until next time, happy travels!

Seth

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