Even my fingertips are sweating.
The air conditioning is broken in my office. The temperature in New Delhi today is 95 degrees Fahrenheit. I'm wearing jeans and a long-sleeved, buttoned-down shirt.
I could throw around adjectives like humid or suffocating or sweltering or torrid, but I'm not sure they would do the situation justice.
Let's put it this way: My latest scheme to cool off involves going to one of the street food stalls outside and asking a toothless cook with cow dung under his fingernails if I can join his collection of frying samosas and bacteria by taking a quick dip in his large metal pan full of scalding oil. That sounds refreshing.