Air-conditioned love

The streets outside lie empty, as if the whole city was hit by a zombie virus. But none of that post-apocalyptic scenarios, I say, it's the heat that's re-embracing its eternal love, the Juliet to its Romeo, this city of Delhi, a dusty hellhole where the fires of heaven cannot remain clenched for too long.
The cold was only a sham. A mirage to lure travelers into its deepest bowels, and residents into believing climate change is finally a reality.
I can feel the hot tepid air on my face as if it never left me. It sucks the air within my lungs, leaves me gasping for another breath even as Helios pours out its love for this city.
In this heat we wander.
And in this heat, that crowded-to-the-brim but air-conditioned metro system seems like an oasis.
How easy it would be to fall asleep while standing under the vents that give out cold air like manna from the heavens.
Yet in this heat we wander.
In circles and spirals, I say, around a maze of glazed white circular constructions--a remnant of the colonial past. Was it any cooler then?
We wander as we relentlessly seek out the elusive watering hole, that one spot in the desert where prey and predator alike beat the mid day heat.
And in our post-modern, cyber-punk, techno-junky, reality-tv-stupified society--it is none other than an enclosed cafe, another modern invention of expenditure, a haven for get-togethers of young couples who hands and kiss each other in the corners of this fancily-lit, magazine-studded, exotic-brews-advertising cafe.
Air-conditioning is as inseparable from us as the shoes on our feet or the underwear that we wear.
Love brews in an air-conditioned environment.
In that heat, an embrace leads to a shrug-off, a seeming rejection of the affection.
Inside the cafe, the embrace becomes an excuse to come closer.
Love needs air-conditioners to survive in this heat.