indian scarves.

It's too hot to wear a scarf here, but sometimes I have to. In New York I lived in scarves and hats. Walking from the studio on 36th down through town to somewhere near Union Square, singing or cursing, depending on the day. I could hide behind glasses, expose my paint-chipped toes and strum three chords on my guitar all afternoon with an audience or not. I left that city with a smile. I wanted something new to bitch about.

So here I am in Miami Beach, creating a mental list of do's and don'ts for the next destination I happen to land in.

It has to be cool enough (at least in the evenings) to wear a scarf. Especially the glittered thin ones I liberated from India.

It's factual that smell conjures up memories. I find that music does the same. When I have Indian scarves draped around my neck, I smell the sandalwood and see the children's kites flying over the horizon. I feel the gravelly soot beneath my tired feet and hear the songs of early morning street vendors. Sunny, the bidi vendor, asks me how my day is and where I am going. I feel alive and real and there, in a land where I felt I was supposed to be.

I don't feel like I am supposed to be here, but there must be a reason or two. Maybe it is simply to reveal to me the necessity of weather encouraging the hug of a scarf, however thin. And that next time I should use this factor as the deal maker.