parotechnics

Now that the time is coming to leave I have the bittersweet feeling - of looking forward to something new, but feeling that Cape Cod has been sort of home. So on this day a song I learnt from Uma, Tara's daughter. It's an old New England folk song.. Cape Cod Girls they have no combs They comb their hair with fish cod bones Heave away, Heave away Heave away my bully bully boys Haeave away and don't you make a noise We're bound for Australia Cape Cod boys they have no sleds They ride on codfish heads Heave away, Heave away Heave away my bully bully boys Haeave away and don't you make a noise We're bound for Australia Cape Cod cats they have no tails They blew away in the Nor'east gales Heave away, Heave away Heave away my bully bully boys Haeave away and don't you make a noise We're bound for Australia Cape Cod doctors have no pills They give their patients cod fish gills Heave away, Heave away Heave away my bully bully boys Haeave away and don't y

This shop of scraptures has been in Provincetown since 1946. Lots of houses there have them- they're all made of metal scrap and fall into some odd middle ground of art and garden ornament. The grandson of the founder is in the air force. He started working in the shop from the time he was 8 and the day we went in he had just come home from duty for the weekend and was busy in the workshop. The scraptures have a zany, assertive beauty. And they aren't cheap either!

Back from sunny LA I found.. Sunny P-town! We had beautiful days. My friend from college, Tara, came with her husband Jumbi and their two lovely kids Mihir and Uma. We spent the day at the beach, ate, played games, made the kids walk far too much so we could eat at Tips for Tops'n, a Portugese restaurant. It was nice to be able to share this lovely space with some friends - what fun is it to have things if you can't enjoy them with your friends. I wish more people could have come to visit while I was here. Mihir's school has recently introduced them to the idea of bird watching, so we bonded a bit on that front. We went to the Beech Forest to look (unsuccessfully) for the birds. Half way Uma burst into tears of hurt betrayal because there was no BEACH in the BEECH forest. So beach it was...

I've got high nostalgia for film festivals. I seem to remember them as a time of timepass and adde-baazi, all about films and friends. You took chhutti from whatever you were doing, you watched films, sometimes you dressed up a bit, you hung out, you met old friends and you made new ones. Then, perhaps there was a sense that there were very few people and very few avenues and we weren't all in the game. Now, as things get easier, and in some senses they have, festivals feel very un-festive. First there's the PES- Promiscuous Eye Syndrome - where, as people speak to each other, their eyes are actually looking slightly left of shoulder in case there's someone more important to be talking to. Then there's the RMS -Relentless Marketing Pressure. Pressure to be savvy, to make that ephemeral deal. I know - these things are as old as hierarchy and viability. I know, we need to grow up, fund raise, network, sustain ourselves, not be smothered by our middle class gentility.

LA is lined with tanning parlours - 19.99 all day tanning! they declare. It has a retro kind of look about it - I feel bad I never got to see anything and I don't know if I will go back again. While driving I spy the Ripley's Believe it or Not museum and every inch of my Indrajal comics educated (true) self wants to go there and not to the county museum to see, well, Indian miniatures. But you never know what lies ahead and at least I saw this miniature which I loved. Fond memories of Mithunda happened. Oh yeah! Krishna was a disco dancer...

It's a relief to be some place WARM!! Who'd have thought a good Indian like me would crave some sun? But as soon as I step onto the LA street in a T-SHIRT, no jacket! I feel like I am bloody reborn. The snow is nice for drama, but not for real life I have decided.

There are airplanes, and then there are airplanes - the teeny tiny Cessna which flies from Boston to Provincetown is just a limousine with wings. And if you fly on a cloudy day, it's a roller coaster ride that leaves you queasy for days. Flying east to west is like international flights - airports to change in, day when you start, night when you reach, the piquant edge of marginal jet lag because of a 3 hour time difference..