A collection of personal essays from some of The Ubyssey's contributors on summer in India — its comfort, its power, the return to it.
Feeling the Heat
Armaana Thapar
Summer in Vancouver is different from summer in India.
In India, it doesn’t matter what city I’m in — the mosquitoes buzz in my periphery, red welts form from their bites, sweat drips down my eyes, clouding my vision momentarily before dripping down my cheek like a tear. You would think that, being born in India, I would be used to the heat, or at least know my way around it — I don’t.
I was 15 the last time I visited Delhi. My parents were busy with my aunts and uncles while I spent hours lying on my bed staring at the fan, hoping it would turn into something more exciting — I don’t mean to sound like a brat, but it’s hard to explain the turmoil of a moody, miserable teenager without sounding like one.
When I returned to Vancouver, I swore I would never visit my hometown again. I blamed it on the heat, while burying the emptiness that my parents never seemed to understand. I decided to shut this part of my identity out completely; it was the only way I knew how to cope. Still, it’s impossible to explain the pull one feel’s toward their birth place. Or at least the sheer curiosity toward it.
What started as merely watching more Indian movies and TV shows turned into musings of how different life would have been had I grown up there. What kind of friends would I have? What kind of things would I talk about? How would I dress, or do my hair? Perhaps, I would feel more complete.
Perhaps, not. I asked my parents that question and they told me life everywhere was more or less the same.
But summer in Vancouver is different from summer in India — so how similar can life be?
In Vancouver, the sunlight is more direct and harsh. If you stare at it, you eventually have to look away. And if you close your eyes, you still see moving orange circles, phosphenes in the darkness, memories of the light. Stare at the sun long enough and you’ll see a kaleidoscope of orange, yellow and red patterns that seem to want to tell you something.
In India, you could look straight at the shrouded reddish halo in the sky and your eyes would probably be fine. Believe me, I tried a few times.
From Heat to Hypothermia
Thea Turner
When people ask me what my favourite season is, I think it is a privilege to say summer — because I didn't experience much besides that for the better part of my life.
Being from a country that stays at a steady 30oC all year round, I never knew what it felt like to be held back from going outside because of the weather.
Heat means home for me. My life depended on all the things that the fever brought along with it — the sweaty bus ride back home from school before running through the sprinklers with my friends was my only solace.
The weather at home was my safety blanket. I would always rely on the fact that it would never change until July or August, when it would rain as the ocean flipped on us. Still, it remained hot.
People say you don't know what you have until you lose it. Moving to Vancouver truly put that phrase into perspective for me. I discovered a word that would slowly shake the foundation of my world: seasonal depression.
In Mumbai, the weather had no part to play in my emotions. But at UBC, that feeling came as fast-flowing as the rainy weather and the brand-new concept of daylight saving time. Both those factors tangle together to create a strong enemy in my brain.
Finals week in Vancouver is gruelling. On top of having to write six papers and five finals, it's cold. It's either snowing or raining. Consequently, when you leave the library after a seven-hour grind, it's pitch-black outside and your day ends abruptly.
The one thing some of us international kids can count on is making our way to our warm home countries for Christmas. It makes finals a little more bearable, knowing there is heat at the end of the tunnel.
Don't misunderstand me; I love Vancouver despite the rain. Seeing the leaves change colour in the fall and the cherry blossoms bloom in the spring is unlike anything I have ever experienced.
I am eternally grateful to experience every season in this lifetime. It also means my wardrobe has doubled, which you will never hear me complain about. From the fur coat to the bikini, with the change of the weather and the excitement of what's to come next, the warmth holds a special place in my heart.
Suffocation or Escape?
Srijaa Chatterjee
The sky is an unnatural, murky orange, casting a strange glow on the white walls. You pull the curtain back just in time to see the sun glaring angrily, much worse than it had been in the morning when you’d taken the weird hue of the sky to mean rain was on the way. It taunts you, as if celebrating the fact that you had been woefully wrong.
The heat in both places is undeniable. How do you pick which one is worse? How can you even compare? Delhi dries up your very being, sucking out all the moisture. Vancouver blinds you with the mere presence of the sun, scorching everything in sight.
But you have the option of freedom in Vancouver, doing as you please whenever you want, which makes the city a slightly more appealing option. Delhi? Five phone calls in a minute if you’re a few minutes past curfew.
Two months at home — that was your limit. But you’re completing three now, with another remaining. You won’t survive this — the heat, yes. Home? No. You can’t breathe.
The few minutes of respite as you shut the door to the bedroom you share with your sister are stolen in a mere second as it opens and the heat comes flooding in along with your mother, doing away with all the hard work of the AC. No! Close it! You want to yell. Just an hour on my own. Please.
But you smile and nod and pretend that the heat is alright, that the 18 years spent in Delhi have thickened your skin, while your mind pictures your own room in Vancouver with no one to shove your door open as they please.
After two years of putting up with Vancouver summers, Delhi is suffocating. The constant heat, the sandstorms hovering nearby all day long, the looming sun and family members unwilling to give you a single second alone.
There’s an urge to swap one horrifying summer for another — but do you really have a choice? Do you have the heart to leave? More importantly, do you have the guts to tell your parents you want to?
Looking out the window now, the sun is setting, not so angry anymore. Your friends text you from Vancouver, just waking up, gearing up to face another hot, AC-less day. The heat in Delhi seems a little less unbearable and you realize why. As you gaze out the window, your face vividly reflected in the glass, the sky is a beautiful, albeit polluted, dark blue and your face is joined by three others, that of your family. And suddenly, another month melting in Delhi is a little more worth it — those who make me want to leave are also those who keep me grounded.
So you wonder: was this an essay about the heat?
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