Tropical London

I rang my old friend Jeremy Seabrook before I left. A development economist, who used to write for a newspaper I had worked for, and who had subsequently advised me on how to write novels, he had advised me to carry adequate warm clothing as the temperature can suddenly turn chilly.

I landed in London, therefore, lugging a large suitcase with enough warm clothes to take care of a Siberian winter. Strange, but the weather immediately seemed warm to me, especially since

I had a jacket on. But I had to be wrong, I told myself, this was Europe for God8217;s sake! Exhausted, I reached the YMCA and my roommate, a Malaysian doctor of Tamil origin, informed me that it was averaging 30 degrees this July and there were no rains.

Mercifully, there were a couple of T-shirts as well. The next day when I phoned Jeremy, his first words were: 8220;Welcome to the tropics.8221; When I told him my suitcase was filled with woollies, he was fairly stricken. 8220;You must be cursing me,8221; he said.

It was little use doing that. For the rest of week, I walked all over the city, sweating it out for the most part, and diving into air-conditioned museums. Browned all over, I was happy to get back to India. At least we have ceiling fans and loads of enormous trees here!