"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?"

Nooooooooooooo. Whenever I listen or read this line from Shakespeare, it evokes lovely images in my mindscape but then all of a sudden there is a jerk . . . I BECOME AWARE OF THE ACUTE HEAT and reality dawns on me. Lovers all over the world read out these lines to their beloved but when in India, I guess this will/does not hold good. Summers in India, especially in Chennai are hot, sweaty, dusty and cruel. The heat gives one the feeling of melting away eternally. The water-melons, musk-melons are all lined up in the market-places with people buying them to alleviate their heat. Umbrellas, caps, shades and cottons are out on the streets in full glory.

Shakespeare talks of the summers in England where it is lovely with a gentle breeze to soothe the soul. And so he is justified when he compares his beloved to a summer's day with golden hue and all but imagining a love-struck individual in Chennai comparing his/her beloved to a summer's day would invite some suspicion. The beloved in question would immediately think of the sweat, heat, dust and dryness and the lover would be dismissed with a curt glance and bitter phrases.

When I read of winters and snow in Jenean's and Zuzana's blogs, I wonder about the difference that is prevalent. There they are wondering about spring and the sun while I have already started complaining about the heat and sweat. When bloggers post pictures of snow, I can't help but feel a wee bit jealous but when they talk of the gloom, traffic snags and lost connectivity, I revise my thoughts. It is a well-known joke that in Chennai there are only three seasons: Hot, Hotter and Hottest!

Probably "Shall I compare thee to a summer's day" was written for lovers in a particular geographical location in spite of Mr. Shakespeare being universally celebrated. Dear readers, summer is here in my part of the world and it is not very nice.

Sonnet 18


~ William Shakespeare

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate;
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date;
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st:
So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.