The summer before last, I lost two whole kilos of butter to the Ongole heat—just melted away, no use for ladoos or anything—and I thought, what if the fridge repairs or the almond supply gets priced out for families like mine? Our girls’ dance fees shouldn’t depend on whether I can save for a cooler or haggle with the almond supplier, you see. When I sit on my balcony watering the basil, I see that the real worry isn’t the heat alone—it’s that one broken thing can tip the whole cart, and no one builds a shade for the whole market. So I say, let the state put its hand in the rich man’s pocket and spread some cold water over our street.