in the Summers

The ice cube in my lemonade tinkles as I rattle my head for the things I want to write. My apologies to my dear readers for all the ado, as I was off the tracks recently. The reasons are many but the most pressing one is the heat of the summers accompanied with the dryness and electricity cut off for six hours and also the low voltage when the kind electricity comes to light our homes. I don’t blame anyone and I don’t blame pratibha patil at all for the sad condition of mine and others because how can she, holidaying in Africa with her small family of ten to fifty heads on the money, consisting of our taxes be called the culprit.

                       It is only me and I should do something about it instead of watching the ice cube liquidate in my glass, even if it is the prettiest sight in the piece of desert I am living in. I should gulp down my lemonade and sit down writing something nice for you people avoiding the continuous buzz of flies and stings of mosquitoes. But before this I should make another glass of lemonade and get a fresh paper as the one right beneath my face is soaking in my sweat. I ask my readers to not to expect something stupendous coming from me because my wits are baking in the sun and my intellect has become a feast for flies.