A taste of desert heat

I was blissfully asleep at 4am when suddenly I woke up to find myself soaking in sweat.
I could not see anything in the darkness, not even my specs, but immediately realised that the damn power cut has struck again in Sharjah. Thankfully, the AC turned on at 6am again.
But the happiness was shortlived. At 10 again the power went off.
I wanted to follow the Salman Khan way by going half nude, but there was a family sharing my flat. That option out, colleague Raghib suggested reaching office early.
“Lemme grab some grub and join you,” I told him and rang up Agnel.
“Lunch at Bombay Garden,” I told Agnel.
When I reached the restaurant, the sight of Agnel was more pathetic. Fully drenched in sweat, he said there was no power supply there either.
We almost emptied an entire tissue box, slapping tissues on our forehead, shoulders, hands…everywhere.
By the time I reached office, an Arab gentleman commented: “This is just a taste of hell.”
“Is it? I had already tasted this before,” I said.
“I used to travel regularly by 2nd class train between Mumbai and Chennai with family. There is a huge Andhra stretch we cross where the mercury remains relentless. I survived that. I may survive this too,” I just smiled, though fuming inside.