The L train platform at Bedford Avenue on Thursday was ninety-five degrees of pure regret and I want everyone to know I survived it on nimbu pani.
If you've never stood on a subway platform in a New York July heatwave, imagine a hair dryer aimed at your soul while three trains go the wrong direction. That was Bedford at 8:40am, Williamsburg pretending it was fashionable while everyone slowly melted.
Here's my confession: I grew up in Ahmedabad, where 43 degrees Celsius is just called "April." You would think this made me immune. It did not. It made me smug and then it made me suffer, because Gujarat heat is dry and honest and New York heat is a wet, sticky liar.
But my nani taught me the one true weapon: nimbu pani. Lemon, water, a pinch of salt, a pinch of sugar, and — the non-negotiable part — a little roasted cumin. I've been making a bottle every single morning this heatwave and carrying it onto the L train like a smug little medic.
Someone on the platform asked what I was drinking because I looked, apparently, less dead than everyone else. I told her. She wrote it in her phone. I have converted a Williamsburg stranger to nimbu pani and I consider this my greatest New York achievement to date.
The heatwave is supposed to break this weekend. Until then, the trick to a New York summer is the same trick my grandmother used for a Gujarat one: salt, sugar, sour, and the wisdom to sit still when you can.
Don't let the L train win. Bring cumin.
Love,