In a move that has left even the most cynical of gin-soaked hacks reeling with a mixture of awe and horror, Britain’s finest aid agencies have descended upon Delhi to address a crisis of Dickensian proportions. The mercury has hit 45 degrees Celsius, which I believe is the approximate temperature of Satan’s armpit after a three-mile jog. And who is suffering most? The poor, obviously. The wealthy have air conditioning, which in Delhi is not a luxury but a matter of species survival. Meanwhile, the city’s less fortunate are left to fry like eggs on a pavement, their only respite a passing breeze that feels like the breath of a hairdryer set to ‘cremate.’
Now enter the UK aid agencies, those well-meaning souls with clipboards and funding from the Department for International Development. They’ve arrived with a plan. A plan that prioritises ‘survival before safety.’ I repeat: survival before safety. Because when the heat is so intense that your skin starts contemplating self-immolation, you don’t worry about slipping on a banana peel; you worry about whether your internal organs are about to become a bake sale. The agencies are distributing water, oral rehydration salts, and what I can only assume are tiny parasols made from old copies of the Times. But is this enough? No. They’re also handing out suncream, which in 45-degree heat is like giving a drowning man a flannel. ‘Stay hydrated, stay shaded, and stay alive,’ they say. Good advice, if a tad obvious.
Let me paint you a picture: a man, let’s call him Ram, lives in a slum with no electricity. He works as a rickshaw puller. His daily wage is roughly the cost of a single cocktail in Mayfair. Today, the temperature is 45 degrees. He has a choice: work and risk heatstroke, or stay at home and bake slowly in a tin shed. This is the reality. And the aid agencies? They’re doing their best, but their best involves a lot of paperwork and hashtags. ‘#SurvivalBeforeSafety’ seems to be the slogan. I’m not sure what safety they’re referring to. The safety of not being run over by a stray cow? The safety of not catching dengue from the mosquitoes that breed in the stagnant water they’re also distributing? It’s a brave new world, and we’re all just passengers on this flight to nowhere.
But let’s not be too harsh. At least they’re doing something. Unlike the Indian government, which seems to be treating this heatwave as if it were a surprise birthday party thrown by the sun. ‘Oh, it’s hot? Here’s a leaflet on heatstroke.’ The UK agencies, bless their hearts, are at least trying to apply a sticking plaster to a gaping wound. They’ve set up cooling centres, which are basically rooms with fans and cold water. But getting there requires a journey through the inferno. And once you’re inside, you’re safe from the heat but maybe not from the well-meaning volunteers who will lecture you on the importance of wearing a hat.
The irony is dizzying. Britain, a country that collapses in 25-degree heat, sending experts to a place where the heat is so intense it could melt a welder’s mask. But that’s the modern world for you. We export our concern while importing their cheap goods. The poor of Delhi don’t need our sympathy; they need a functioning state that provides basic amenities. But that would require a level of competence that seems to have evaporated along with the water table.
In conclusion, as I sip my gin and tonic (imported, naturally, and chilled with ice that probably came from a factory in Delhi), I raise my glass to the absurdity of it all. To the UK aid agencies, for trying. To the government, for failing. And to the poor, for enduring. Survival before safety? More like survival despite the systems that were supposed to protect you. Biff out.
