Talking of a Fan

I am not talking of a fan Finger-biting, awe-struck I am talking of the device Triggered by a switch, stuck On the roof, to provide breeze In a hot day, moving and nice. (I) remember the hottest day In my life, on the sands of the river. With crystal clear water, But so warm no fish would like. With a friend sharing the lot With a pair of rickety bikes, And the carefree youth in us Where even the hottest day In one's life, doesn't matter. It was forty eight in the city, they said The hottest in the history, That some caught unawares, died That was a long time back, but imprinted With indelible ink, in the mind. Whenever they say it is hot Without fail, everytime It hits the spot. Oh, I just forgot I was talking of the fan For those who just wait and serve Not surprisingly, it happens often. No one remembers the pain Of the workers who sculpted the stone But commit to memory the name of the king Who just ordered from his throne. Shame on me, I forgot again I wanted to talk, about the fan.