masala Sushi

A few of my favourite toys...

2010-07-04T12:02:00.010+09:00

While the world is busy losing bets on football favourites I am plain happy that Woody and Buzz Lightyear are back!! My favourite heroes from Toy Story.

Watching Toy Story I realise each time, how growing old is just matter over mind. I am the same little girl (with 3D glasses this time) who believed that toys have a life, feel pain,need bathing and come night (important to the plot) have their own social life. And the colourful 3D world of toys is where I would like to live happily ever after....clean ,colourful,baggage free...

My world would be a happy one with a steadfast friend like Woody and the sweet optimism of Buzz Light Year.And I would have tea in Noddy's cosy little house and hang out with Big Ears and Tessie Bear.

Can I not go back to the grown up human world now?

A rumble deep inside

2010-03-13T12:26:00.023+09:00

Where I work ( an NGO in Bangalore that gives top class education to underpriveleged children) I see faces these days that years ago would fit somewhere else. We certainly would not see them mingling effortlessly with noisy children ,baking in the heat of the asbestos roof above in a classroom run by a Foundation, teaching them a thing or two about the Laws of Gravity and life.

Jasbir is a young IIT (an elite tech Institute in India) graduate who two years into his job got 'fed up', saw its futility and decided to give teaching a go. Who did that in my generation I ask him in awe and horror! Words like 'fed up', 'futile', self enrichment' only came about with midline fat at 40. And this young gun seems to have got it already at 24!

Is India seeing a gentle but significant shift? Is the younger generation thinking more out of the box ? Are they willing to tread unchartered space, taking 'risks' more easily? Hey - have they hit upon the meaning of 'happiness' earlier than we ever will! I hear a 'yes' somewhere - but am not sure its my optimism?

As a generation that was hungry and ambitious for material gains we saw no option to climbing up the career ladder, slowly surely, all planned and charted out. We didnt seek 'meaning' in our jobs - if it got us the goodies it was 'meaningful'. But on the wrong side of 40 we are finding ourselves spent and questioning. Is this what it was all about?

But the young Jasbirs today cant wait to uncover Life's meaning the long way. It has to be here and now. I more and more hear voices from young middle class Indians about nursing dreams of becoming scuba divers and dancers - all after chucking comfortable jobs endorsed by society. Doesnt the lack of material wealth bother? Pat come the answers. Whats the point if they leave me unsatisfied. These young 'uns are racing up the hierachy of needs super fast, I say!

I am not saying Indian middle class has suddenly got it all and our system has started producing more adventurers than soldiers. Oh we are a long long way off. I am even ignoring the dark side of Young India that has got 'too much too soon' and is therefore on a hedonistic crash course. I also know -well- that India can never be generalised. But this much I know - India (or a teeny part of it) is shifting/has shifted silently thousands of miles underground.

Hopefully this shift one day becomes a rumble and a quaking roar shaking up the Old Order, breeding questioning individuals that know well that 'they have to be the change they want to see' (Thank you Mahatma)

Fallen Giants

2009-07-31T12:54:00.006+09:00

They lie by the roadside like fallen elephants. Hacked and brought down by crude tools - a flimsy rope, a hacksaw. Can I hear them moan? Those majestic trees. Once Bangalore's pride - now a mere nuisance in the path of 'development'. What beautiful living, breathing beings they were, giving us shade, peace and oxygen. How long does it take them to grow that big? Decades. Centuries. Three days to hack them. Go, do your math.

Road widening, metro lines, fly overs - buzz words in the din of progress. THe Bangalore of my summer vacations only in my mind now- cool , salubrious (a word I learnt early can only describe this city), unhurried. Now all hot, hurried and crass.

Someone said, the road to 'progress' has to be barren and tree less...and we all cheered in agreement. Our own Silicon Valley. Jewel in the IT crown.

I cry for Bangalore.

40 and flitting

2009-07-22T12:21:00.011+09:00

Everyday is a new day on Facebook. And a revisit to the past. Friends from long ago reconnect and behold memories come tumbling out. Strange how Facebook works just as well for greying 40 somethings like me as for my two teens! My friend list vies with my sons', crossing the landmark 100 recently. I am a social butterfly flitting in cyber space..

More 'adipose rich' than I remember, grey hair,wizened faces peer out of happy friendly picture frames. Father, mother, son, daughter in front of Niagra. Proud mother at sons graduation. Elizabeth George has become Liz Chabra. Time has clearly passed, roles lived and learnt ;peace made with life's limitations. No more rash dreams - reality it is. . Different journeys, same reality checks.

So Facebook is a good reminder of how time has flown by. Was anyone keeping track? But here we are again - scattered for a while, a few decades between us, sought each other out in cyber space and reconnected as if nothing happened in between.

Signed, Inked, Delivered...

2009-04-23T17:32:00.011+09:00

Feels a bit like Rip Van Winkle waking up after 20 years as I blog my thoughts after a gap of almost a year - cant believe its been that long since we moved . Masala sushi has been lying low, what with the sushi in my life yanked out and replaced by a whole lot of bhel puri and life spinning a full 360 into reality.

Today I had my say in the world's largest democracy, such as it is. India's 5 yearly Election Machinery. A lumbering clanging sum of rattling parts with bits and parts falling off but miraculously getting there each time! As my choice registered as a resounding beep couldnt help think - again and again- that the million Gods of India are always smiling over us wishing us well..

That we managed to appear on the electrol rolls in itself was a piece of divine serendepity. When my Other Half (never short on optimism) wormed patiently through haphazard lines to reach a disinterested Govt official who couldnt care less about franchise and any of that gobbeldy gook, he (Other Half) had lost all hope of ever being recognised as a legit member of the Great Indian Electorate. Weeks later when we heard nothing from anyone, hurting from the rejection, I decided to confront the officials about the omission.

To cut the chase I finally spotted our names , mispelt, misquoted on a dusty screen in a dusty corner of a - whats that - gym! Apparently I was not supposed to ignore the gym on the ground floor of the BBMP (Muncipal Office) where business gets regularly done among dumbells and dumb-lads, as if its the most normal thing to happen.

So there I am signed, inked and delivered, smug as a bug, marvelling from all angles, the ameobic blue blotch on my finger nail, which tells me without a doubt, that I am indeed a part of this mad, mad madness.

Hello India

2008-08-05T01:32:00.012+09:00

For now I am the only freak around that says 'thank you'. Sometimes people dont know what to do with this strange sounding salvo aimed at them but most often its not that bad and I might even get a sheepish 'welcome' in reply. I remember explaining to my non-Indian friends at various points, how saying 'thank you' is not is not much of a routine Indian practice and could even be considered offensive in a context.

Thus folks, the journey to my re-Indianification' is well and truly underway. Almost 2 months since I kissed the earth on landing in motherland, everyday has been a process of re discovering my inner Indian - snoozing happily with all guards down for 7 years.

Living in India again, is liberating.Liberating that it is home, liberating not having to say thank you for every bally thing (that I do, is another matter) and having to use more than 3 words in a sentence (Tokyo days), liberating not having to complete sentences and getting understood instantly, liberating just to be able to give complex instructions with 'what if '/'if not' deviations thrown in and being understood without a fuss (Japan - the Land of Sequential Steps) , liberating just knowing my way around, what to say, what to do...

Yet coming back has meant coming to terms with zillion other discomforts that India challenges you with. Boredom is not a frequently experienced emotion with me here. Anger , frustration, irritation - yes. Boredom - no.

Bangalore - the city of my birth , and home to us now was a sleepy town with a cool climate and smell of ground coffee and jasmine in my memory. Never a Bombay in pulse it did posses a quiet glamour of its own. It was where leafy lanes were home to classy moustached retired generals walking their pure breeds for a crisp morning walk. Or something like that atleast.Until it became Indias pot holed Silicon Valley. The Bangalore I set foot now is a grossly disfigured one thats completely lost its way. Its crowded, bustling and has truly caught up with Mumbai's grime, squalor and maybe industriousness but none of its hardy work ethic.

Anyway, everyday is a journey, everyday a new truth to unlearn and accept. When I 'compare' (India vs rest of world) I am doomed.When I accept and own, I go with the flow. But it surely has tested every bit of my optimism and I wait for the day I attain total nirvana and leap happily over mounds of garbage thinking that the rest of the world does it this way too!

Alvida.

Sayonara

2008-06-01T07:47:00.008+09:00

When you get used to parking attendants bowing to you (90 degrees) and polite men guiding you to safety at road blocks (with a bow) ....

When you routinely start seeing trash in your mind as 'burnable, 'non burnable' and 'recyclable'....

When you expect the world to be spotless and always run on time...

...its time to pack up and get real.

Japan's hushed orderliness spoils you into believing that the world has actually become a better place to live in. When you get out of it, the rest of the world seems like a cacophony of sounds and brash people who havent been taught any manners. Dangerous, when you know that someday you will be yanked out of this temporary Utopia and dumped into the real world.

After two lovely years in a place that gave me more than I expected, its time to move on and...well get real. And how. We get back to India next week and meet Life head on. Nothing couched there, nothing indirect and politeness is an inconvenient waste of time.

Capturing Tokyo, I said in my first post, was like trying to catch a thousand different sensations in a bottle. In my two years maybe I did hold and understand some.Others I just soaked in without bothering to decipher.

I cant imagine anyone walking away unscathed from Japan. It is bound to change you , even if imperceptibly so. I know it has changed me. Taught me patience, given me clarity and helped me understand that speed is not the fastest way to get to your goal always- patience and perfection might get you there more soundly. It has tempered my spirit and taught me to respect even the tiniest details.

Maybe when my mind is being 'bheja fried' (battered) in India, I can escape to my 'inner Japan' to repair and restore in its noiseless calm. Maybe I'll carry that always with me - my own portable Inner Peace and maybe that can only be a Japanese thing!

Sayonara beautiful Japan.

Three stars

2008-05-25T06:49:00.010+09:00

I've always felt like a voyeur in my 2 years of living in Azabu Juban - a well heeled part of Tokyo. I've gaped,gawked or plain stared at a world that I've never really felt part of (thank god) but ghoulishly watched its every motion from the outside. Each time I walk its streets I am convinced I am a side player in a celluloid drama with the beautiful star cast sashaying around for my benefit. My own personal theatre. I think I've always felt like a hippie in ragged denims who forgot to read the dress code at the bottom of the gilt edged card or more likely just didnt bother to keep up.

A walk down Keyakizaka or Roppongi Hills - both places with the maximun no of beautiful women per sq ft - can get surreal and disorienting. Christian Lacroix, Louis Vitton,Kate Spade...all quitely inhabit this street, while unselfconsciously gorgeous live mannequins clap their stiletto heels on the well tiled side walk.

The voyeur in me decides to push the limits. I walk into a shop with the air of someone who knows her Givenchy. Its a mens store. Glass cases house regular objects with not-so-regular prices. Wallet: 600 dollars; cigarette lighter : 400 bucks; can opener : 300 bally bucks ; the look on my face: priceless.I quicken my pace and in two steps I'm out of the shop into the hushed lobby where a quiet waterfall falls in muted tones, reminding me again that to be here means to embrace style with cultish devotion- even at a godly price. I passed that logic and headed back.

On my way back I pass a non descript grey building in one of the tiny lanes near my place. For the uninitiated it means nothing. But I know. Its 'Kanda' - a Michelin 3 star restaraunt, no less. It doesnt need boards or signs to announce itself. Gourmet regulars probably have a hotline with the chef to tell him they are coming. Its prices way out of orbit of regular wallets.

Tokyo is supposed to be a goumet capital. With the Japanese fetish for quality and style thats no surprise. Even I can tell. It has the most number of Michelin starred restaurants. Beating Paris, New York and London.

Whats a Michelin 3 star you ask? You dont deserve to live.

To market, to market to buy a fat fish.....

2008-03-09T08:31:00.017+09:00

A bit ironical when sworn vegetarians like us trudge to a fish market at 4 am in the morning! Thats exactly what we did last weekend - to Tokyo's Tsukiji (pronounced Skiji) Fish Market,bleary eyed on a cold March morning!! Curiosity piqued we just had to see the 'worlds most famous fish market' - if not the biggest or noisiest or filthiest.

Tsukiji is one of Tokyo's oldest fish markets where each morning tons of slithery fish are traded, bought and sold. Not surprising,considering the Japanese's love for fish -raw or mildly cooked, poisionous or not.

The buzz had begun at 4 am as we approached the market with Nakamura-san our guide for the morning. Nakamura-san worked as a salmon auctioneer years ago and he was the best man to guide us through Tsukiji's slushy maze.

Peak hour at Tsukiji. 4 am.Men deftly veered their mechanised buggy type trolleys loaded with chilled white cases through crowds of busy workers and wide eyed tourists like us yanked out of our beds. We leaped over pools of water , avoided getting knocked down by the buggies, avoided bumping into carts with more crates and gaped at as many sights our foggy 4 o clock eyes could take in.Nothing was familiar.

Before entering the main trading houses we made our ways through rows and rows of 'middlemen' shops for whom business had begun and a day of buying and selling lay ahead. To simplify the chain - 'middle men' buy fish off auctioneers from auction houses and sell their catch to restraunt owners and sushi chefs..

Big warehouse type halls housed rows and rows of fish of all variety - small,big, live, dead, slithering, still... all goods on the block for the day.Hoardes of these creatures in bubbling tubs of water, slithering about - octopus, puffer fish and other nameless ones.

But the piece de resistance or the stars of Tsukiji are really the tuna auctions which make for good entertainment. Before that the frozen tuna auctions had begun - huge lifeless blocks of icy tunas were lined up in a big hall painted with red paint numbers on their backs '1' 2, 3, 4... bold unequivocal strokes of a fish trader.....a man on the side with wet gum boots was mixing cans of red dribbly paint . Art flourished amidst gore;blood, red paint, sea water....all mingling happily in the gutters of Tsukiji. The tuna had tags telling us the fish's life story 'Guam', 'Australia' said the yellow tags - homelands where once these lifeless forms roamed. But now no time to moon....

Auctions were happening in small wooden rinks in one corner of the big warehouse. Buyers in blue jumpers with badges on their caps, small books with their short lists in their hand and a keen sense of fishonomics, were huddled in this rink, bidding silently - with just a slight wave of fingers (could well be strumming music) while the auctioneers rapidily rattled off numbers among other (presumably) important information. Business is brisk - one batch of tunas for a price, gone in a wink. Onto the next batch.

Then the crowning glory - the fresh tuna auctions. Would put an MTV rapper to shame. Each auctioneer jives to his own ryhthm - hopping up and down, swerving to the side, barking sounds - its all part of the serious business of tuna! We stood utterly amused and fascinated.

As we emerged from the cold wet insides of Tsukiji - our toes postively frozen- the day was breaking, the sky slightly flushed. It was 6 am. Middlemen proud with their day's buy were arranging them in rows. Nakamura-san whispered and showed us one grey distinguished man weilding a long samurai sword , deftly slicing through the innards of a huge fresh tuna. He was supposed to be a master in his trade. Patronised by well known sushi chefs. He attends auctions himself and now this - he trusts noone to do as good a job as himself.

By now sushi lovers were crowding outside their favorite sushi eateries - rows of them on Tsukiji's periphery. You cant get fresher than this! But we walked passed them, immune to the lure of juicy fillets. We were too busy locking away our memories of the fascinating drama that had unfolded before us - a well oiled, faultless machinery. Cogs within wheels each doing their bit to an invisible grand design honed over years. Millions of dollars of fish at stake.Zillion palates to satisfy.

Wrapped in our memories forever will be the jumping auctioneer, his wet gum boots bobbing to his funny rhythm and other surreal sights. All locked away under the already overcrowded 'Tokyo Memorable'.

For pictures check:

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=31522&l=3ea84&id=673787336

Glitch! Glitch! Photos will be uploaded once things are sorted out!

Made in Japan

2008-02-03T13:54:00.000+09:00

Ever so often, something so-very-Japanese comes my way, reminding me that I do infact live in the Land of Manga, Convenience Stores and Cigarette Vending Machines.

Both were recent news reports in the local English daily.

The first was a report on Tokyo's Metroplitan Police Departments Lost and Found Centre. Located in central Tokyo this Great Churning Pot of umbrellas and bags and everything else in between, seemed like quite a spectacularly well oiled machinery. Lost items on subway trains or elsewhere find their way here through the station master or the nearest koban (police box - another very Japanese thing).

The sheer scale and organisation of this operation is indication not only of the Japanese passion for discipline and organisation (thats old hat and doesnt even surprise me anymore) but also their complete and utter honesty in dealing with things not their own. Where else in the world would you find your laptop intact, untouched on the sidewalk just where you had left it (its a true story, close home, dont ask)? Or leave your bike or car unlocked in a public place and expect to find it right there hours later casually waiting for you, complete with the wallet and credit card you left in it? Got to be Tokyo. That big 'bad' city of 20 million plus honest souls. Uh bad?

Back to the Lost and Found Centre. The article went on to describe the operation of the place. All things sorted and stacked neatly on shelves in - get this - colour coded bags. Different colours based on which line of the subway they were found on (say the Hanzomon Line would be blue, Marounochi all green and so on). Blimey, even my wardrobe isnt this organised.

Another crazily Japanese thing was the trend of 'adult toy stores' in Tokyo. Not what you think- but a series of 'serious', 'high end' toys for baby boomers who have more money to spend and less to lose now than back then. Japan's declining birth rate seems to be pushing toy makers towards the older bolder segment, to vent their creativity on. And what are these toys ?

Sensor equpped dolls called Primopuel, for 60 year old women.It has the vocabulary of a small child, can speak, sing and 'talk to' other dolls of its kind. 300 proud owners of the doll gather annually to celebrate the birhday of dear ole Primopuel. Play dates anyone?

If the sound of popping air filled bubbles is your thing then its a 'Mugen Puchi Puchi' for you. It consists of battery operated bubbles like the bubble wrap sheets used in packing. So you can pop till you drop and still have all the bubbles restore themselves for your next session of manic bubble popping! And as if life wasnt exciting enough every 100th pop has a different sound -like a dog barking.

Jinsei Gingko - 'life bank. A 'bank' with a LCD display showing your 'progression' in life based on the no of 500 yen coins you put in it.

A toy soba noodle maker - a simplified version of the real life soba maker,which an unhappy adult can use to make real noodles and feel fulfilled.

Ah Japan.

Getting back to sushi

2008-01-15T12:38:00.000+09:00

The peace and quiet of a place can get deafening when you are just back from a trip to India. (Also explains the long break from blogging; pre trip to post India trip just consumes so much mental space).

Its so silent here I can hear my own footsteps on the sidewalk. Never easy to return to a silent world where things have their place and they work like they should...

Especially not after a trip where all carefully guarded rules in your head have been ruthlessly tossed around like a tumble dry in a washing machine and nothing is sacrosanct anymore.

Stepping into India from Japan (and reverse) makes you realise one thing and that is how opposite the two countries are in every darned respect. Chalk and cheese doesnt even come close. Try sushi and bhel puri. Sushi is subtle - the tastes of fish and rice wrapped gently in sea weed - all left to the taster to interperet and savour the flavours, at his own pace. Bhel Puri - an explosion of spicy, sweet, tangy, crunchy hitting your tongue from the time of contact, not giving you time to decode the sensations racing through your veins, leaving your palate tingling long after the onslaught- too late by now to go back to the dull flavours of salad and soups!

And so with India. The minute you land its an abashed blast of sensations - sight, smell, sound...the whole gamut. Nothing couched, nothing coy. Its life, real sized. No scaled down sense and sanity of the developed world.

We rattle down from the airport into the heat and energy of the city in a Mumbai taxi - now just a collection of metal spare parts glued together by prayer and lots of Goodwill. The driver's faith in Destiny and the natural order of things (as he saw it) also seemed to work in keeping his (and our) optimism together. We ask him why he and his clan doesnt junk the scrappy cabs in favour of new ones and out comes the reply, in cocky 'bhaiyya-ese' - 'Yeh loha hai. Ise banane or bigadne me kitna time lagta hai" ( roughly - this is metal, can be made and unmade perennially). So much for our 'out-of-whack-totally-clueless' concern. (His thought bubble: "we are moving forward aint we, mate").

Welcome to India I think. The tumble dry has begun. Things baffle me momentarily. I feel a bit like Alice in Wonderland.Its then that I register - its been a while since I stepped out of India, I had neat forgotten what it was to live here and that what works for the rest of the world doesnt for India.

And so I begin rewriting the rules in my head. Start singing its tune. By the end of the trip, I am in sync. Nothing surprises me anymore. Not caterpillars smoking hookahs or white rabbits in waistcoats....

Whats more, I find it now hard to get back to sushi ....

Tokyo this week

2007-11-29T17:54:00.000+09:00

Its been a while since I blogged. Just the flow of things - the lovely autumn, my impending Japanese Proficiency Test, upcoming trip home - all keeping my mind ticking. My thoughts as my feet crunch over the bed of fallen leaves in my path...

Autumn. Just cannot resist going ga ga over it - yet again and again and... Autumn should silence all the doubters who think Tokyo is just a grey city full of wires and bridges. In any other season I would be one of them but not now, now today. The icy chill air with the beautiful autumn hues brushing shoulders with yes - the overhead wires and grey buildings - is just that intriguing combination that drives me nuts.

Hats off to Tokyo's beautiful gardens that sit bang in the middle of the big bad city, where you least expect. There is something about urban concrete beauty doing a merry dance with nature that brings the piquant twist in the tale.

This week Tokyo is in 'full bloom'. Suddenly there are dashes of red, yellow and browns in the otherwise black and grey palette. Splashes of colour like an artist dabbed it there. Christmas lights are shining like fireflies. Add to that the beautifully fashionable people of Tokyo and the incredibly energising chill and you no longer feel you are on the same planet as the rest of the world!

Who says Tokyo isnt beautiful.

Jaaapaan...love in Tokyo!!

2007-11-07T21:30:00.000+09:00

Strolling down Azabu Juban last weekend, we saw this beauty. It was a normal Tokyo morning with everyone routinely airing class and fashion in a cafe and where the coffee is only incidental.

Remember how I am prone to venting about the ethereal Japanese beauty. That how Tokyo's streets are never short on eye candy and Joy Mukherjee just doesnt stop yoddling in your head "Legayee dil...gudiya Japan ki...pagal mujhe kar diya"! I mean, shouldnt beauty have limits?

Only this time the real show stopper was the sleek black beauty on the side .The giant black Great Dane was breath takingly beautiful. Since 'kawaii' (cute) was too small a word to fit the big creature, people settled for a tamer 'sugoii' (interesting). Which of course didnt do any justice to the hunk....neither does this picture..

I have become some kind of a fashion observer in Tokyo.Typically words that you would never hear from a fashion dummy like me but there it is. There is no other choice in Tokyo where fashion is in the air you breath. Like a 'pollution index' there should be a daily 'fashion index' here. Purple apparently is one of the dictats on Tokyo's fashion calendars this year, which extends even to stockings (purple, yellow...why limit) as are long, knee-ankle length sweaters...sugoii ne..

And then there was this lovely day spent at Mashiko - a potters village, 2 hours away from Tokyo, in neighbouring Tochigi prefecture. This was the annual autumn potters fair where potters from around congregate to diplay their ceramic creations. What joy. Millions of stalls, oodlles of clay tempations...enough to cripple all decision making skills and saddle you with uselss bits and baubles and tons of regret. Anyway Mashiko seemed to have got into the autumn fury thing well ahead of Tokyo..much of its leaves had turned red/yellow. Double joy.

From Edo to Now

2007-10-23T18:52:00.000+09:00

Last weekend we set off to Asakusa - a must see sight that all guide books lay their buck heavily on. Its a part of Tokyo that is supposed to hark back to old Edo period of yore (1600's something) - the age of samurais and shoguns.

As you emerge from Asakusa station the feel is different. A quasi Kyoto feel where you begin to imagine the smell of dank wood and incense. Or start hearing the clang of swords of hot blooded samurais.

There are throngs of people heading towards or coming out of the Sensoji shrine - a five minute walk from the station. You enter the imposing Kaminarimon gate (Thunder Gate) - with a giant red lantern hanging from it like a big red paper apple....

......Onto Nakamise Dori - a crammed shopping lane leading upto the main shrine. The narrow lane bubbles with activity as tourists and devotees mingle facelessly. From samurai swords and kimonos to fluffy 'kawaii' dog dolls and yakitori (grilled snacks) - it is the free spirited shoppers' playground.

At the shrine itself the Throng is busy. A big incense cauldron with smoke curling up from its core stands in the centre of the courtyard, as a focal point for both the devout and the curious. Devotees draw the smoke to themselves with short sweeps of their palm. Tourists wander gaping, gawking or just trying to get the best angles.

From the shrine we branched off into a lane on the side to see what lay in the shadow of famous Sensoji.

Tokyo, unfailingly offers you a platter of contradictions when you are seeking none or expecting nothing. You can be sure that for every yin there is a yang waiting to counter it, not allowing you the safety of generalisations.

A few minutes of walking through quaint roads, you are surprised by 'Roku' (Block 6) - formerly Asakusa's famous entertainment district.

The story obviously took a twist somewhere down history and nowadays the theatre at the corner seemed more like a 'watering hole' for Tokyo's lechrous .....

One things for sure. In Japan porn blasely coexists with the ordinary with not a twitch of remorse. Nothing clandestine about it - just a casual acceptance , as if it were another harmless art form one could chose to dabble in. I have seen risque posters and funny toys sitting side by side in otherwise perfectly family settings. Here at the theatre, large glossy posters of over- endowed under- dressed beauties, brazenly basked in the sun. While you steady yourself from a bout of prudish horror, families with young children are quite normally walking past as if a Disney movie were showing .

Further down there were more vices to pick from. Pachinko parlours (that very Japanese gambling obsession), betting booths (horse racing) and video game parlours all noisily lured the Weak Willed.

By this time, Asakusa seemed like a long forgotten apparition that had only existed in our imaginations. That was Edo period - this the Here and Now.

By now we could also hear a beat pulsating below the gravel we walked on.Loud music was playing in what seemed like a courtyard crammed with people watching something in the arena. We stepped in. There was a bunch of youth twirling on their mini bikes showing off how good they were with just a pedal and two wheels (video posted at the end of the post). Twisting and twirling youths with perms and bandanas were enjoying their moment of glory as their young friends watched with admiration and who knows even envy. Tokyo's brash youth was venting hormones in the vicinity of Sensoji's ancient wisdom. One of Tokyo's many clashing worlds.

We wound up our walk with a stroll down Kapabashi dori - a kitchen wholesale area - where one can find anything from a sushi knife to a 'flying pan'! The huge stone chef atop a building at the end of the road watches sternly everyday, crowds of chefs and kitchen loving amateurs rummaging through the goodies to pick out the right tool for the trade.

One walk .Three disparate worlds (old Edo, Vice Lane and Kitchen alley). Wonder if 'schizoid' quite describes this city.

Infinite Tokyo

2007-10-19T09:44:00.000+09:00

One of the most precious things about living in Tokyo is the walking. Walking its lanes - big or small - opens up worlds that are endlessly fascinating.

There is no other way to imbibe this city into your pores. But to set off without a goal, armed with a sturdy pair of legs, robust curiosity and a love for serendipity. Oh yes and a camera. Tokyo is there to inhale, feel, embrace...

If walks in Singapore had the predictable orderliness of a Yellow Pages, ambling in Tokyo has the edge of an animal straying out of its territory.

Whether its my cool morning walking routine or a weekend stroll with Better Half down a busy district, the idea is the same - to snoop around Tokyo's infinite folds and sniff out unique sights and stories that I know I cant find any where else.

Tokyo oozes with photo ops- you wish your eye lids were camera shutters.Blimey you can just stand and people watch all day!

You can either meet Tokyo's funky rhythm head-on by walking on the main bustling roads and crowded shopping districts (Shibuya,Ometesando,Roppongi...) or just crawl incognito into the million cavernous lanes that branch off into their own secret worlds. Either way it commands your attention and doesnt let you blink.

If I am in Roppongi (pub area by night) early morning the black clad soldiers are out on dot getting spewed out of the Roppongi subway station, single file, orderly and Godamn fashionable. Cutting edge corporate fashion on display..

If you want to go 'high power' theres Kasumagaseki/Akasaka teeming with suited bureaucrats and other important decision makers flowing in and out of power corridors, a colony of penguins...

Shibuya and its teeming youth, the air screaming with fashion statements and funky hairdos..but all saying 'young is hip'...

Ometesando - Harajuku....home of the designers, where Fashion rests and resides, where Design spins elegantly on an esoteric orbit far from yours and there are souls who understand and speak its language. I am happy just feeling its vibrations under the sidewalks I'm walking on.

Or even Azabu Juban - my home - where in some lanes time forgot to tick and stood still.

Or the lovely gardens right in the heart of Tokyo where you least expect to see them.

Not to mention the countless other lanes and areas that will always remain unattainable in the infinity of Tokyo ...zany architecture, hole in the wall eateries, funny posters, risque ads....so many sights, only two pairs of eyes and one teeny camera...how is one to devour all this in a lifetime?

PS: All these images have come from within a radius of not more than a km from my home...except Shibuya which is about 3 kms maybe...

Pictures Top to bottom, L to R:

School children,Hiroo station ; Hair raising experience in Shibuya!;

Hole in the wall eatery with flapping 'noren' panelled curtains in a bylane, Nishi Azabu ; Jizo - patron of aborted and miscarried babies, at Zozoji Shrine; Old world charm in Azabu Juban

A Jaguar on the lose, Keyakizaka, Roppongi

Lazy noon at Azabu Juban ; Morning walk at Roppongi; Aoyama cemetery ;

Blue Hair day, Harajuku ; Only for blue dogs, Ometesando; Horsing around, Roppongi;

Roppongi "Hirsu" (Hills) ; In Shibuya

All for a ticket

2007-10-16T09:37:00.000+09:00

Better Half and I being movie buffs, of sorts, can spot an oppurtunity for idle sport when a film festival is in town. Why miss a chance to sit on backside, munch popcorn and let someone else fight out lifes battles on a big screen in front of you.

After suffering a year long 'movie drought' (Japan aint too hot on keeping up with the world of movies) the effect on us was akin to a parched desert traveller spotting an oasis. The Tokyo International Film Festival was the pool of clear blue water that we wanted to glug away at. Turned out we were getting too excited, too soon.

The famed Japanese fetish for order and discipline has a flip side to it. Their dogged love for processes and 'ways to do things' makes nothing easy here. Everything has a process that is designed to exact the last drop of blood and sweat from you before knocking you down if not killing you.

So we have identified the Albanian,Armenian,Slovakian and whathaveyou movie. What then? No tickets sold at the theatre (now that would be too easy wuldnt it). Website! Everything in Japanese. Tickets at 'Pia' stations at convenience stores. You need to first make bookings on the Net, then colllect tickets from the machine. Steps-to- follow.Steps- to- follow. You are back to staring at the big glowing screen in front of you thinking you should have paid more attention during Japanese lessons. The feeling when you've reached a dead end is not a nice one.

You are that close to retreating into a dark corner when enter the Noble Concierge. Those noble souls without whom life in Tokyo would have been more of a struggle than it is. They are the reception or help desk of our apartment who are just a phone call away for any help you need - book tickets, order stuff, get delivery....

After much navigation through the complicated phone ticket booking system (six movies, six different phone calls, a zillion steps each) and some never ending hours later the job was half done. To actually get tickets in hand I have to still grapple with the Japanese speaking machines at the convenience stores, which I am sure is a whole ritual in itself. But tomorrow is another day and whats life without its challenges.

I am exhausted.

Now the movies better be worth it.

Bloggers block

2007-10-11T19:34:00.000+09:00

Getting masalasushi started,earlier this year, was the easiest part of the process. Tokyo wrote itself effortlessly. A place so different from anything I knew, the flood of thoughts and feelings had to find an outlet.

When I stepped here, I felt a bit like Alice in Wonderland. Everything was surreal, bizarre, unfamiliar, implausible. All known benchmarks became irrelevant. What is wrong, what right became relative.What could one do but gawk in a place like this..

There it is then. There is no fence-sitting when it comes to Tokyo/Japan - you either love it or hate it. And both with a passion. The place offers you no safe wishy- washy middle ground. A bit like India. That pushes all your buttons any which way.

After the initial blogging fury the pace has mellowed down - of late, blog posts are being coughed up, stacatto, roughly at the pace of a cat spitting furballs (uh?).

So have the rosy filters fallen off my eyes? Am I not looking at things the same way? Has my 'adolescent' zeal waned? Really must be the natural curve of getting used to a place - getting comfortable with its bumps and contours and not noticing that things are different any more...

Though Tokyo continues to be in the grip of 'fashion heat' even as temparatures dip, dogs are still wearing suspenders and maddening order and discipline still prevails.

Its also not the most exciting part of the year. Not the best time for Muse to make an appearance. Everyone doing their own serious stuff - kids at school, better half busy 'providing', the closest holiday two months away. And me? Leading the "hard life of an expatriate wife" (husband's wry take on my life). Its no joke trying to juggle all those lunches and coffee mornings , what. But seriously, one day flows into another and one forgets to get baffled. Or I need another travel to fuel my thoughts...

Either way, the good thing about 'owning' a blog is that you get to make your own excuses and stick by em!

White February

2007-10-03T10:41:00.000+09:00

Not many know that the sight of snow - maybe a daily humdrum occurence for say the Lapps - can send certain others into a delirious tizzy.

Last winter, the family trudged up under the weight of snow boots, jackets and tons of expectation to Hokkaido in North Japan (across from Siberia) . A 3 hour flight from Tokyo and our inner compass swung to roughly 43 degrees N latitude. We had arrived in Hokkaido's capital Sapporo.

The landscape needed some mental adjustment at first. From the warmth of the subway train, Sapporo was like a scaled down model town with fluffs of cotton stuck with QuikFix. White was a great leveller. Everything seemed light and happy. Jaunty mounds of snow lay scattered from a recent snowfall. Houses and cars sat like frosted cup cakes. People in thick 'eskimo' layers.

I'll be darned , snow was for real.

Every February, Sapporo (Hokkaido's capital) hosts the Annual Ice Festival. A virtual tourist stampede out to watch the display of ice sculptures while trying not to slip on its icy sidewalks. The creations were mostly beautiful, some even awesome. But Sponge Bob Square Pants in ice? I drew my line there.

Next morning. Just another day, another town. As we sliced open the curtain....shweeeck.... outside our window....a scene straight out of a fairy tale. Flakes of snow silently shimmered down like white glitter.. It was raining cotton. The spire opposite our hotel looked cold and Victorian. Down below, the streets and sidewalks were fast gettiing covered in white, like powdered sugar.

Somebody had to stop this flood of similes.

It was all exactly as I had seen/read/imagined from books and movies. Pickled stereotypes were having a wild party in my head - Santa and his sleigh. Sad little match girl down to her last match stick. Jingle bells. Reindeers. They had to be the missing pieces.

Gawd, its early Feb. Christmas long gone. Got to get a hold.

I wanted to slit open my senses and cram in all the sights to last for the rest of my life. And also tell my sweaty cousins back home that it was all not a trumped up story.

In the absence of any previous experience in these matters, the family relied on pure ancient wisdom acquired from reading Archie and other literary masterpieces to make snowballs and throw at each other. So the secret was out : if unchecked, we an otherwise decorous family were capable of some pure silliness.

Many frost bitten toes,numb fingers and mugs of hot chocolate later the family huddled together. The three men in my life had had enough of my misty eyed rambling about snow and its many poetic aspects. Get more real they growled and hit some manly snow mobiling in beautiful mountainous terrain.Must admit it was a befitting climax to our snow experience.

I will carry with me forever that first magical glimpse of a snow fall, from a hotel window. Simple pleasures. Loads of pay off. Just the way I like em.

Whazzat? Frozen toes, slush and shovelling driveways? I dont have to get real do I. I like my distance from it all and thats the way I intend to keep it.

Meanwhile here I am, I think punch drunk forever on memories of 'that lovely February morning the snow fell'...

Time to renew

2007-10-01T11:21:00.000+09:00

Its easy to get poetic when you are surrounded by an edifying chill in the air that you simply want to breath in a good lungful of and go "suzushii" (cool)!! Ah!

All that was familiar has gone.Its the Order of Change.Time to Reboot. A.k.a The Magic of Seasons.

At a time like this, its also easy to summon all non existent talents (poetry, singing, art...get it?) one posseses/doesnot posses, in praise of God's creation. How something wholly beyond our control happens with stunning regularity year after year. I may sound like a stuck record but now that I know of its existence, I refuse to budge from my stance. The 'season' story is worth a hearty song and dance anytime, anyplace.

The air has gone silent after the frantic sounds of summer; the birds and cicadas have vanished to renew and restore for the next cycle of life. Only the big fat crows remain singing their lonely guttral song.

Temparatures officially dipped in Tokyo and voila the rules of the game changed. Life and our wardrobes will be reordered.Our brazen summer steps tempered. On the bright side, my lovely morning walks toasted under the winter sun are back.Joy.

So then the change of seasons is a humbling experience. Makes you aware of a Higher Order that is really calling the shots. All you, as a speck of humanity can do is show up, on cue, in the right gear. Philosophy. See what I meant about non existent talents?

An ode to the Japanese woman

2007-09-19T20:46:00.001+09:00

Life isnt always fair.When God dealt a hand He obviously didnt mean it to be equal.

Even at the height of a nasty Tokyo summer - when sidewalks sizzle and you are ready to plonk into the next watering hole with the indignity of a panting Retriever, looking like a charred eggplant - there is a species that still looks fresh as dew, not a clogged pore, fashion basics in place , all the above plus emitting 1000 W radiant beauty.And that is the Japanese woman.

Yes sistahs, this ethereal creature exists, in abundance, not in my husbands fantasy but in downtown Tokyo. The injustice of it all. So this creature commits no fashion faux pas, has not a single bad hair, skin or toenail day and is perfection itself in the beauty department. She walks in and out of Vogue and Vanity Fair and spills onto Tokyo's sidewalks - all of her poised, well shaped self plus 6 inches(heels).

Her favourite accesories could at times be a well coiffured poodle with pink strawberry clips, sitting (the poodle) in an elegant bag slung around an elegant arm. A powder blue convertible. An optional hunk at the wheel. And to complete the pile of injustices : all the above sometimes.

She rustles past you in a taffeta skirt , her clicking stilletos providing the beat to the catwalk.Oh so subtle pink foundation accentuating her ah so translucent cheek bones.A chignon never looked better. She could be sitting pretty in a cafe silently upping the 'beauty' quotient of the already laden atmosphere . Or she could be giggling with her beautiful friends, probably laughing at all the broken 'gaijin' (foreigner) hearts they left behind..stupid men.

Oh how I hate the species.

Watching Japan tear by..

2007-09-19T08:16:00.000+09:00

Travelling in bullet trains - those sleek white tubes - quickly become a way of life when you live in Japan. They are the quickest way to get from A to B, without grimy nails or ruffled hair. Sitting in a 'shinkansen' (bullet train) as the train silently tears through the gut of Japan, ranks high on my list of quintessentially Japanese experiences - up with kimonos and sushi.

It all starts at the platform where digital boards flash train schedules of the three services - 'Nozomi', Hikari or Kodama. Time is gospel of course. You know you have no buffers.You get in quickly and sink into one of the soft spacious seats, cut off from all outside sounds...

..I come from a country where train travel always meant an assault of unsynchronised sounds - tea/coffee (depending on which part of the country the train is in) sellers shouting and clanking cups ,lustily bargaining coolies(porters) in red, relatives seeing off their dear ones- getting as excited about the journey as the ones departing....an unentangleable morass of sounds merrily clashing into each other. Such is the fanfare surrounding train departures (and arrivals) in India....

Here...the bullet rain leaves on the dot - silently - without warning (if you cant keep time, why live). Coldly efficient and downright unemotional. Inside, methodical announcements start - in polite Japanese from a thin Japanese female voice- rolling out oh-so-Japanese names of cities - Shin-Yokohama, Nagoya, Shin-Kobe, Osaka,Kyoto - all rattled off with exact times of arrival - you can set your watches to them. As it pulls out with an inaudible rumble, passengers around open their bentos (food in packed boxes) and gently prod their chopsticks into rice and fish breakfasts.. A business man/executive across the aisle taps softly at his sleek laptop.The train purrs on. Business is as usual.

I look out of the expansive glass window and watch Japan tear by - 'on mute' . It is beautiful. Lush never ending mountains ('yama' in Japanese) green in summer and who knows what fantastic shades in autumn and spring. But there is one more thing that never leaves you. The crushing sight of human habitation. Miles and never ending miles of box houses meshed with overhead poles and cables.Spread like a carpet in Japan's scenic countryside (what once might have been untouched). I take note. From Kobe to Tokyo ( about 3 hours) there is virtually no respite- never once - from houses, factories or pachinko (slot machines)parlours. This is the island of Honshu - one of Japans most densely populated and industrial regions.

If you think etiquette can be done away with on a train, think again. Not in Japan. Not on a shinkansen. Girls in uniforms, with the polish of air stewardesses push snack carts ( gentle voices reminding us of the "nomi-mono" - drinks -and "sandowicho" on sale). Ticket collectors quitely enter to check. All follow an invisible script - enter carriage quietly, mutter a string of words (an apology?) , full bow and on with their jobs.

Everything must have a way.

India -Japan, bhai-bhai..

2007-09-07T08:43:00.000+09:00

So what are the best known Indian 'imports' in Japan? Curry,Vedic Maths,Rajnikant and Radha Binod Pal. An odd collection which I wouldnt have guessed in a million guesses!

Curry - 'kare' (car-eh) in Japanese. The Japanese love it and have embraced the spicy concotion with unconditional devotion. The dish has acquired its own meaning in Japanese cuisine - indigenised to the horror of purists.Much like what we Indians have done with 'Gobi Manchurian' (Indian Chinese) and paneer Pizza (Messrs Dominoes) among other unspeakable horrors. The 'kare' is thicker and sweeter and includes pork and beef. There are exclusive 'kare' eating places.Curry powder occupies supermarket shelves.And I am sure the 'kare' enjoys equal status alongside miso soup and noodles on Japanese dining tables.

Vedic maths - what?? Yes apparently word has got around that Indians are a bright lot when it comes to numbers. Atleast three cab drivers and two others in Tokyo have accosted me with this flattering trait my race allegedly posseses. Glowing references were made to our head for numbers! Cab driver: "Jozu desu" = meaning 'skilful at' (maths). Or head in general- "atama ga ii desu" = literally "good head/brains"!! Me as humbly as possible : "jozu-janai desu" = (I am) not skilful. Or to make a stronger point "zen zen dame" = not at all/not in the least! Apparently multiplying two figured numbers in our sleep is what we Indians do best! Wish.

Rajnikant - if you are a movie snoot who smirks at the 'Thalaivar's ('leader in Tamil) zero gravity leaps , you might be out-voted here in the Far East. He is the loved 'Odori Maharaja' (Dancing Maharaja) and his movies 'Muthu' and 'Chandramukhi' created waves here. So I've heard. He is probably some sorta exotic Indian manga hero in their eyes! 'Naruto-Thalaivar' anyone?

And...RadhaBinod Pal. Come again? Prime time Japanese TV it seems recently ran a programme on the life and times of Binod-da. Japanese PM Shinzo Abe visited his family on his recent trip to India and he is seen as a 'friend of Japan' . For the ignoramus - he was a jurist on the international panel that tried Japanese war criminals, post WW II and gave them a clean chit. He certainly had a soft spot for the Japanese (and vice versa).

And the more I look at the above list the curiouser and curiouser it gets!

Wanderlusters

2007-09-04T08:25:00.000+09:00

Artist/writer Doug Coupland in his book 'Generation X describes a condition called 'terminal wanderlust'. The founder of the 'Lonely Planet' guidebooks Tony Wheeler picks up on it and feels he is probably "infected" by it.

It is a state of being, where one is disconnected to any place in the world and everywhere is home. No deep attachements to one place, happy in any place. That sounded familiar and explained a lot of things about me. But it also triggerred an avalanche of thoughts.

Am I a terminal wanderluster? I grew up in India, have lived out of it for 7 years in two countries,travelled many more and would be perfectly happy hopping around destinations, if I could.Even as a kid I was never in one place for long. I grew up in various parts of India never really anchoring in one place.

My husband on the other hand, was born, grew up, played street cricket , went to college, had his first crush - all the above in one city,one area. He moved out of the city only when he was thirty five and fully grounded. His memories have a shape - during our yearly visits to Mumbai he can see the lanes he walked and played in, meet neighbours who watched him grow and grew with him, relive all his memories 'on location'! Sites of my childhood games are scattered , lost forever, existing only as memory bytes inside my brain. In India I have no place that I can stake my claim on as truly 'my territory' (though my parents home is now 'home'). And living overseas - I was happy in Singapore, equally gung ho in Tokyo.Tomorrow Bulgaria? Why not.

If that makes me a tramp, a vagabond so be it. I like the liberating feeling of 'being happy' in any place and not having to invest too much emotional energy into one place. Always being an 'outsider' (ah the freedom) , never getting flustered at the thought of uprooting..

But is it that simple? The scale has changed today. We are moving whole countries and cultures. In these times the definition of 'roots' has become more thorny. When living abroad there have been moments when I have had to answer, even if to myself, the question of my 'roots' or 'home'. I am lucky - the answer comes easy to me.I feel firmly rooted in India no matter where I wander in the world. I carry with me that vital piece of my being that will be with me forever. Ergo I am a 'wanderlsuter' with roots. A tramp with a home.

But what about my sons? They have grown most of their lives till now, abroad - Singapore, now Tokyo. They remember little of their early years of living in India , visit India every year on whirlwind romantic visits that leave them spinning and happy, but little else (I presume). They have seen foreign cultures upclose yet never assimilated into them. If we continue moving country to country for the rest of their growing up years are we raising true wanderlusters? Will my children grow up vaguely feeling Indian but not quite having any concrete associations with the country ? Is that good or bad?

Being called 'Third Culture Kids' (TCK) is all fine as a New Age tag but are we only making it more difficult for them to answer that question in later years of 'where is home for you'? Are we depriving them the rock solid feeling of belonging to a place called 'home' which is so needed in moments of self doubt and confusion? I guess some questions just dont have clear 'yes/no' answers.

Anyone?

Lost innocence

2007-08-24T09:03:00.000+09:00

Theres something about 'development' that just doesnt add up in my mind. It kills innocence and makes life a trifle more sterile. And why did I think of this in Vietnam?

Hanoi, on my recent visit, still seemed to have the simplicity and guilelessness of a small town or a city on the throes of 'globalisation', but not quite yet (thank God). So it had none of the swagger of a city that has tasted the seductive fruit of 'progress'. Maybe its poised in the best place ever in its history - emerged from years of crippling war and isolation of a closed socialist economy , but just before the raid of Big Mac.

Jayashree was right when she commented on one of my previous posts- "... Vietnam has its own rustic charm and tranquility unlike the plastic beauty of the so called 'developed' countries of the world".

So what does that mean? Elementary , my dear Blackberry toter . Hanoi's cool dudes are not yet strutting about thinking how lucky they are to be born in the Age of Choice. No Mac Donalds and Starbucks. No flashy malls, no fancy cars (mopeds are fine thank you).

Any society that tastes economic success eventually rues its lost innocence I think. Older Singaporeans reminisce about the simple life in 'kampongs' (village). In some places in the city there are exhibits of a life that was more spontaneous.The bronze sculptures of naked urchins jumping into the Singapore River for a happy dip is one of my favourites. It stands dwarfed and almost irrelevant in todays plush business district.

In some ways I find the strain of 'progress' showing through in India too. Not quite as sterile as a Singapore or a Tokyo yet (maybe never will) but there are precious things that are threatening to fade out. With the Wal Marts and Reliances coming in, conversations with 'our family bhaji wala' (vegetable seller) - whose life's ups and downs came gratis everyday with the chillies and curry leaves - may well die out. Shopping would just mean zipping around with trolleys down well signposted aisles and picking out vegetables -labelled and weighed to the milligram.Espirits' S,M,L,XL,XXL has made the lovably tardy tailor (for whom deadlines were just abstract concepts) redundant.

With 'progress'/globalisation/technology/'all those certain somethings we call development' , day to day experiences just lose out on warmth and get coldly standardised.

I am no 'jhola' toting Left leaning socialist. I enjoy my speedy Internet connection as much as anyone else. And a swig or two from my can of Cola doesnt exactly shake my moral foundation. But somewhere deep down it just doesnt gel. I am thankful I grew up when I did - when there was no TV and not much choice. It is my sons who I feel sorry for and want to tell them 'how you are missing out on LIFE'. (I know they would repartee 'you dont know what you are missing out' babe'!)

Back to the point...does Hanoi's "rustic charm" amount to anything at all then? Atleast people and life seemed real there. Ha who am I kidding with those big empty words. Afterall isnt there a thin line between 'old world charm' and hardship? No one knows it better than the Vietnamese themselves.

Vietnam is one of Asia's fast growing economies. Its people deserve their share of "progress" after years of struggle.Who am I- tapping away on my laptop- to grudge it? Uncle Mac will catch up soon. Just hope the deft fingers of Vietnam's semstresses dont go cold then.

Splashing fish and smiling faces

2007-08-22T10:15:00.000+09:00

Hanoi's delightful Water Puppets (at the Water Puppet Theatre) stand as proof of the simple and timeless appeal of folk arts. (Spend some time watching the videos linked below. They tell you more than what you read)..

Delightful snippets from rural life are enacted through crude, colourful but efficient puppets operated from behind a screen.The whole show is played out in a pool of scum green (what looks like) water set amidst a kitschy ornate set. So there is plenty of splashing, slap stick humour (we gathered), action and drama, all accompanied by an equally charming orchestra of folk instruments.

Fish splosh around while fishermen try to trap them in their baskets, fire breathing dragons skittle on water spewing tons of smoke and firecrackers, departed sons of the village return to an emotional welcome ...its all happening here.

And for a whole hour you jive to the simple pastoral tunes of rural Vietnam,evoking visions of swaying green rice fields and straw hats, live their common tales and all the while wish from the bottom of your heart that someday a huge wave of Vietnam's economic 'success story' doesnt wash away all that innocence...

One whole dimension of travel - food - normally shows up as a big gaping hole for vegetarians like us. Food, an organic part of the local culture and milieu is sadly lost on us, but we hope that our eager curiosity about everything else somehow makes up for it. So the Vietnamese pho and bun ca was just something we read about but never tasted. And the Vietnamese love for dog meat will always come in the way of my total embracing of the Vietnamese and their way of life. Having said that, Hanoi to our surprise, was a huge delight when it came to vegetarian food. Hanoi's Old Quarter is abound with a surprising number of cafes that proudly highlight a vegetarian menu or some all-vegetarian cafes.

Of all the eateries we ate in KOTO got to be my favourite. Run by an Australian NGO (Know One Teach One) it trains street kids or kids from underpriveleged backgrounds and runs the eatery with the help of their vocational skills. From the kitchen to waiting tables its all done by these children. Conceptually powerful. And the final outcome we were happy to note was utterly fantastic. Delicious food , pleasant smiling faces and that warm fuzzy feeling.

Say hello to Uncle Ho

2007-08-18T11:55:00.000+09:00

Uncle Ho lies cold and embalmed in a freezing dark room in the 'Ho Chi Minh' Mausoleum in Hanoi. Clearly he commands a lot of respect from the proletariat , going by the long line of local Vietnamese and the seriousness with which you are led into the chamber. Leave your cameras,caps and humour behind. You ought to be quiet, in single file,in the right respectful attire and hands out of your pocket.

Ho Chin Minh , Bapu-ji of Vietnam, founder father of Vietnam's Communist movement and friend-father-philosopher during its turbulent years against the French, is greatly revered by his people. He stands even now, as a symbol of the dynamic country and has a city named after him - Ho Chi Minh, the erstwhile Saigon.

You are first led,single file, by stern patrol officers. Any noise is shushed immediately, like dissent quashed by a Communist regime. So you enter the stark monument, like obedient school kids. As you get closer to the 'altar' you shiver (its cold). Inside the dark chamber you shuffle past the glass case in which Uncle Ho lies at rest, oblivious of all the ups and downs his people have seen in recent decades. You might even feel (and some guide books warn you) that Madame Tussaud had a hand in it but I prefer the more romantic version of an embalmed body lying there,like an immortal chunk of history. Every few years his body is taken to Moscow for a tune up.

Giving him company in that cold dark room, are four strapping young guards in uniform , matching Uncle Ho's stillness.Their resume must have read under 'strengths' - ' ability to stand still for hours without blinking'. Dont envy their jobs. But more power to what they do...

In the same compound is Uncle Ho's house where it seems he did all the ideation one does while leading a country against determined colonialists. Peaceful green gardens, a pond and the quintesentially ochre building with green windows - French architecture? A far cry from the mood outside the gates where chaos and energy rules....

Random notes on Hanoi

2007-08-10T21:38:00.000+09:00

Hanoi is one of those places that works infallibly on the Divine Laws of Traffic Intersections. The law ensures that when a body (you) steps into a fast stream of vehicles (mostly 2 wheelers) nothing happens to it - like liquids, the 'stream' finds its own path and swerves artistically around you (the body). The rush of mopeds interlace and create their own merry pattern like a weavers weave.

Crossing the road can be traumatic in India. Its like a combat zone where you multitask - cross the road and stay alive. But in Hanoi despite the chaos, crossing a busy street is easily done with the tranquility of a Buddhist monk walking on water. You just have to surrender to its beliefs and step on a busy street. While the Non Believers shift and shuffle, you have already - calmly- made it to the other side.

In short, alls well and pleasantly chaotic on the streets of Hanoi. That quaint city in N.Vietnam. Our brief retreat this summer.

In all our 5 years in Singapore we loved our holidays to these wonderful parts of SE Asia....Indonesia/Bali,Malaysia, Cambodia,Thailand....all fabulous worlds packed with sights,sounds,food,culture.Strains of the Indonesian 'gamelan' (musical orchestra), the lilting Javanese ballet of Ramayana and Mahabharata, Cambodia's awesome monuments, Bali's arts, Malaysia's beaches..... all make for aching nostalgia for me. Theres so much to see yet, I doubt I'll ever make it to other places down my list.

Hanoi city to the North of Vietnam was not the centre of the Vietnam War. For a sense of the turbulent years Ho Chin Minh (or Saigon) in the South is probably the place to be in. Hanoi - part Asian, part residual French and all Communist - is fuelled by merry chaos and for a second you might even think you are in an Indian city in all that din of honking- except scaled down 20 times and the presence of straw hats.

Two wheelers are the hottest accesories this side of the Mekong. As if by Communist decree - 'one moped- to every Hanoiian'. Or 2 or 3 or maybe 4 Hanoiians if they so wish. These 2 wheeled wonders are zipping around the city's streets, all day, like worker ants. Carrying human cargo - Vietnamese beauties hiding those well chiselled cheek bones behind face masks that are also patches of creative expressions - Hello Kitty motifs, florals,wild colours...or carrying men, families, entire family trees. These wondrous machines - collectively a moving Silk Route for Hanoi - also carry - vegetables, chicken, porcelain vases,chairs tables....its the Hanoiian's prerogative to chose.

To get a full rush of the adventure just hop onto a 'cyclo' ( manually pedalled rickshaws) and leave everything to God and the Will of the cyclo man who (you pray) has your good at heart. The circles/roundabouts are the scariest. Its like hurling full speed into a whirlpool of two wheelers that are pouring in blithely from all directions (the cyclo man hides behind you - the coward) and not knowing how its all going to end. I am alive to tell the story. And thats enough of the end you need to know!

Hanoiians seemed a hardy lot.Especially the women who could be seen in all kinds of trades by the roadside, in shops, on the roads heaving those heavy poles on their shoulders. A fiery bargain now and then was quite normal. After the severe politeness of Japan it was a relief to let off some steam!

Hanoi's crowded 'Old Quarters' overflowed with people and enterprise. Gravestones, fake money (for the dead), silk, paintings...all vying to get the tourist's attention. Hanoi's architecture is clue to its French connections in the narrow old world buildings tucked away in the lanes of the Old Quarter. Some of them were home to interesting cafes that beckoned you with all that charecter and atmosphere.

Hanoi definitely teased our senses and we revelled in its energy for the days we spent there.More about Uncle Ho,the delightful Water Puppets and divine vegetarian food in my next posts....

Ja Mata.

North of the Sea, West of the Sun

2007-08-08T14:24:00.000+09:00

Tadaima!

(roughly - 'I'm back'- in Japanese)

Back from a wonderful break in my favourite part of the world - S.E.Asia!

It is that happy time of the year when getting the right money out of your wallet can be a challenge. Back in Tokyo now, it takes me several accidental encounters with Singapore dollars, cents and Vietnamese Dongs before I can dish out the exact amount of Yen at the cash counter.Mildly disorienting but hey - it comes with the wonderfully light headed feeling of a holiday hangover! So why complain.

Curled up contently with the tan back in my cheeks, a tipsy holiday grin on my face and all that Vietnamese baguette on my hip, I know the break has worked well for all of us.

'Singapura' welcomed us in her arms with a gush of warm tropical air on our faces as we stepped out of Changi Airport (Singapore) close to midnight. This felt normal.Cruising down the East Coast highway - on the drive from Changi airport to the city - I felt all the challenges in my life disappear slowly, one by one. My brain was going into snooze mode - no more 'figuring out' things, no more trying to make sense of the world around...just being...like slipping into my skin...when was the last time I had understood everything around me! The feeling was almost weird.And the cabbies familiar trill of 'Singlish' worked like a soothing lullaby...

So a heady one week was spent just reconnecting with old senses and friends. Lost pleasures regained - to be able to talk English,be talked to - a normal human interaction in every sense, having able to pick a shop at will (a lot to be said about those one- stop- shop malls) and shop for what you want,when you want and even turn them into intellectual experiences by asking clever questions to the shop assistant.Just loved the feeling of so many words rolling out of my tongue at a shop! While in Tokyo my 'shopping words' generally fit into one breath with more air to spare!

The spit and polish of Singapore assailed me. Pleasantly. It actually felt like home. Never thought I'd say this.

The lush tropical trees , well laid out grassy kerbs, colourfully restored Perankan (Chinese-Malay) and Colonial buildings - were just the balm our eyes - sore from the cheerless, rough edged Tokyo landscape- needed.

Were these the exact same 'antiseptic' things we had sneered at when we lived here a year ago? It must be relative.

Did I ever mention what a great base Singapore makes to travel from. A travellers paradise. Just a short flight away from any of the delightful SE Asian countries around. Crammed with unique cultures,people and places.All warm welcoming and utterly fascinating..

So it was tic tac toe and our fingers landed on Hanoi, N.Vietnam. One of the parts in the region we hadnt set foot on before...

Hiroshima

2007-07-20T20:42:00.001+09:00

Hiroshima must have looked something like this from above on Aug 6 1945. The day the A bomb was dropped on the city, sixty two years ago.

(View from top of Mt Misen on the island of Miyajima, on the outskirts of Hiroshima)

Clear summer sky, peaceful blue waters dotted with islands. In a flash, it all changed - for Hiroshima and the world. 'Hiroshima' was burned into our collective memories even as we grew up in far off India."Hiroshoma-Nagasaki" we said in one breath with some idea of its history but absolutely no idea of the geography of it (the two cities are several kms apart, on different islands). And now here I was standing in one of the cities.

What did I expect? Bombed out buildings, ash flying , sad faced people? I searched ghoulishly for clues of the disaster. I could see none. Obviously. Hiroshima seemed like any other present day Japanese city. Tall buildings, cars, trams (different from Tokyo or Kyoto), wide roads and of course ubiquitously 'Starbucked'! Hiroshima seemed to have mended and mended well (Sixty two whole years later? What am I thinking?).

Hiro-shima (meaning 'wide island') is set on the beautiful delta of the Otagawa river. It is built on a series of sandy islands criss crossed by rivers.It was cold bloodedly chosen years ago from a shortlist of Japanese cities (so we are told in the Peace Memorial Museum) for its inocuousness. It had neither the grandeur nor the importance of a Tokyo or Kyoto.Its very innocence sounded its death knell. And also the clear weather on Aug 6 1945 - bad weather would have meant an aborted sortie.

Memorials have a way of wrenching your gut out. The moment you step in you feel the gravity of the past weighing down on you. I am convinced the ghosts never really leave.Every stone/relic has seen the horrors. It was the same strong feeling that assailed me when I visited the Tuol Sleng concentration camp ("S-21") in Phnom Penh two years ago- one of the sites of the unspeakable horror unleashed on innocent people by Pol Pot and his 'Khmer Rouge' regime in Cambodia. Utterly gut wrenching.

The 'A-Bomb' Dome (now a memorial then a Government Office - picture on right, top)) still stands untouched, in its bombed state on the edge of the Honkawa River. 'Gembaku-Domu'. A skeleton of a building with burnt walls and scattered bricks. It stands roughly below the point , where 'Enola Gay' dropped "Little Boy" 62 years ago. In a matter of seconds, an area of two kms around the hypocenter was razed to ashes. People caught in its eye suffered death, grievous injury and/or long term effects from radiation. All these stories are poignantly described in the Peace Memorial Museum across the A-Dome, on the other side of the river.The Hall of Rembarance is another sombre structure with the names of the victims and recorded testimonies of survivors and relatives of victims.

The two places can take a whole day to absorb fully. The sadness is in the ordinary details. Peeled off clothes of victims along with their exact whereabouts at the moment, their watches stopped at 8.15 - the exact time of the bombing, a torn satchel, a charred lunch box, a finger nail, clumps of hair.

Its hard not to be moved.

A walk through the museum leaves you rapt. You just wonder what the roughly 300,000 innocent people, caught by surprise that morning, did to deserve this. A cold analysis of history might tell us that Japan had to be brought to heel at the time. Taught a lesson. But surely the school boy carrying his lunch box of rice and red beans had nothing to pay for? Did the end justify the means?

We are told that the bomb unleashed in seconds an unimaginable magnitude of heat, sound and radiation energy that left people two kms away with melted hands and burnt faces. After a while, black rain poured over Hiroshima - a result of the extreme heat generated by the bomb. People didnt understand what it was. Some drank the water hoping it would give them relief. Many survivors died of cancer months or years later. Some had glass or shrapnel extracted twenty years later. It was the mental wounds that probably never healed for the hibakusha (A- bomb survivor) and Japan.

It was a daunting thought as we walked the area - the memorial, our hotel,the cafe - that the very place, now normal and full of life, sixty two years ago was a burning hell, flattened out by a big ball of fire packed with hostility and aimed to kill. Nothing would grow in Hiroshima for a hundred years more, went the belief. But it did.And it gave us hope.

In the time it took the city and its people to rebuild , have we learnt our lessons I wondered?

The answer, it dawns on me, is neither simple nor comfortable...

Conform or perish

2007-07-11T19:03:00.000+09:00

The local daily 'The Daily Yomiuri' reported an incident yesterday of a 30 year old JR Tokai(Japan Railways) employee who killed himself in the path of a shinkansen (bullet train) bound for Shin-Osaka. The incident obviously caused much disruption to shinkansen lines, forcing passengers to spend the night in the trains (quickly termed as 'train hotels' by authorities). Woe the inconvenience.

A 'normal' incident so far with all its connotations of urban angst.But the clincher really was the statement issued by a JR spokesman (the dead man's employers) the next day. The company spokesperson issued an apology (or their idea of it). And I quote - " It is inexusable (behaviour) for a person who works for the railway and we'd like to apologise to anyone inconvenienced by this accident". Not a word of regret about the tragic death of a man who was till then a part of their 'family'.

To me, it was the ultimate summation of the notorious Japanese neurosis about conformity and perfection- the much thrashed/talked about/debated/analysed undercurrent that seems to run beneath much of Japanese society.Better to stay with the group than freely express and be out-of-step.Tomes have been written about a culture's obsession with conformity. The very reason, it is said , that Japan rose from the ashes of WW II to become an economic superpower.

Tokyo's crowded downtown throbs with a subtle edginess that is neither seen nor spoken.Men in black suits, women in stilettos seem to march to a tune singed in their psyche.Have to get to work on time. No room for error.

I have heard friends (foreigners like me) say that Tokyo seems noiseless- silent. It is. And neat,civil and orderly. No unwanted decibels, barring the incessant cackle of psychedelic neon boards.... or..

..the scream of ambulance sirens rending through the downtown air, as if heralding yet another victim of the city's neurosis. It could well be Tokyo's refrain. Clues to a frenzy that is otherwise well contained.On a tight leash. Maybe I'm imagining.

Or...the slow throbbing menace of a million red lights in the night, atop Tokyo's skyscrapers (watch the movie Babel). The view from the top is of a Star Wars city - only driven by a rumbling manic tension - deep down - much like its own earthquakes.

If anyone had doubts, the suicide incident (and the statement later) seemed to flash the dire message , clear. No sympathy for the one who messes with the good of the pack. 'The nail that sticks out gets pounded', warns a Japanese proverb.

In this case, no moving dirges for the dead man. Just a reprimand that follows him right upto heaven along with his secret sorrow.

This is the land where there is a word for 'death by overwork'. It is 'karoshi'.

PS: Two recent movies Hollywood movies- 'Lost in Translation' and 'Babel' -pretty much capture Tokyo's manic tension. Catch them if you havent.

That light feeling

2007-06-29T11:16:00.000+09:00

This year I am savouring summer like never before. Its dawning on me what a beautiful season it is. Incredibly liberating and the light feeling hasnt left me. Funny - living in places with perennial summers (Mumbai,Singapore..) one just misses this small joyous fact.

For all those inveterate tropical animals - like me - yes you can survive winters (like I did).No, you dont necessarily die/get frost-bitten/suffer hypothermia in the cold (yes even in temperatures below 25 C).And the temperature setting is normally less than in Great World City (mall in Singapore) and no you cant turn it up when you want to. And yes you can get spoilt by it all if you arent careful.

So I survived a winter and am actually reminiscing fondly about its joys (who would have thought). I do miss the long winter walks when I could walk for hours without panting like a Retriever. After walking a while the warm rush of body heat from within made for a neat inbuilt body warmer.

I miss those nippy winter mornings ,bright blue skies and a bright sun lightly toasting your skin (ah bless the Tokyo weather).I miss the excitement of predicting the turn of seasons - spotting the first yellow leaf or the first sakura bud (or read about it in the mornings newspaper)...

Before it sounds all wrong I have to say this...I am still glad, very glad its summer.

I like the feel of cool cotton against my skin again.

I like the feel of the breeze through my open window and the sound of rustling white curtains...

I like not walking around like a shapeless ball of wool (all those layers) weighing a ton (not having learnt the Japanese art of winter chic yet).No wonder I feel lighter.

I like the fact that I can walk out of the house in a lark with just one layer of clothing and my house keys. No more endless dilemnas (everytime) about what to wear and how many - gloves-no gloves, thermals or plain cardigan or fleece.Or all. Neck warmer or cap.Or both. Heck going out should be a hop, step and out and on your own terms.

Its nice to have your feet aired in open toed sandals...and no socks. Freedom.

Its a happy feeling hearing birds sing song-ing in fresh green leafy trees. Goodbye to lonely stick trees sadly reaching out...

No more darkness at five in the evening and six pm seeming like mid night.Thank God. What a weird feeling that.

Am I imagining it or do people around me actually look happier and 'free' this summer..like a burden just lifted off them..

Maybe its just the song in my heart that is making me see things..

Or the humidity.

Sayonara!

Galangal and a far off place

2007-06-18T19:22:00.000+09:00

Started the summer by wiggling my toes a bit outside my small boundary in Tokyo. My fascination for the 'far off' suburbs has stayed on with me over the years. Those far off places on the fringes of the big bad city. 'Back- of-the- bandooks' to some cynics. Or 'The-Last-Train-Stop'.

When I recently read in a Tokyo daily an ad for a Thai vegetarian cooking class somewhere "in another prefecture" it had a dangerous ring to it (not the cooking).I liked.I responded.

I have loved the sound of 'prefectures' ever since I set foot in Japan.Ibaraki,Aomori,Gunma,Tochigi....I could well be reading music.

Who knows what mysteries these far off places hold ? Who are the people who live there?

In Hong Kong, the word 'New Territories' similarly stirred my inner 'qi' (chi). From where we stayed as tourists on Hong Kong island (ah the skyline) I had to get a whiff of the dangerous mainland air. I walked its teeming streets (check pic) full of strange sounds and sights - less Hong Kong more China. I understood fewer things there - but thats the whole point of these 'Last-Train-Stops'.

Meanwhile in Japan....my train reached the outskirts of Tokyo Prefecture, where I had to change subway lines to more exotic sounding ones
(Seibu Ikebukoro,Seibu Chichibu..). These lines figure on the fringes of the Tokyo Metro Subway map as thin lines- with a start but only a vague suggestion of an end, in small type, at a romantic sounding station.As if warning me that the journey's end may just be a concept.Who knows.

As the train surfaced from the deep bowels of Tokyo city, the landscape had changed. Tokyo's neurosis considerably ebbed,pulse dropped notches lower. Small houses with their own pocket sized gardens. Men in straw hats tending to small tracts of land (cabbage? spinach?). Mountains rising all around.Pastoral and all that. (Exhibit A: the naive goggling city bumpkin)

Two and a half hours later, I arrived in Koma, my destination in the Saitama Prefecture. I breathed the cool mountain air. Where are the people? The quiet station tucked away in the middle of nowhere could hardly mean serious business. Drivers probably dont even bother stopping here.

The quaint barn-like organic,vegetarian Alishan cafe and shop (venue of cooking class) sat calmly on the banks of the Koma River. May, the Thai chef - our teacher for the afternoon showed us the joys of Thai cooking to the strains of quaint Thai music in the background. One of those mildly disorienting experiences where in flashes I wasnt quite sure which part of the world I was in. Talks of galangal and lemon grass in the Kanto Plain to the strains of lilting South East Asian music and a Canadian exchange student by my side.

As the sun set on the quiet little town of Koma (a dog barking in the distance), my palate tingling with the taste of red chilly,lemon grass and of course galangal ,I headed back to the madness of Tokyo, like moth to a flame.My batteries needed recharging. I think I was wilting. Rural,pastoral is all fine for a day but I needed my crazy cocktail of city sounds. I am headed back to where I belong. Also my family (of scapegoats) await me and my newly honed Thai cooking skills...

PS: I love Thai food. If my journey to the end of the earth doesnt prove it what does.

Omoshiroi!

2007-05-25T09:20:00.000+09:00

"Ame ga futeimasu" piped in the radio DJs voice over my car radio. I could see that.The wiper in front of me was swishing wildly.Whats more I realised I had understood every word of that sentence in Japanese. Made me think just how far I had come in almost a year of living in Tokyo. You might have guessed it meant 'Its raining".

I still remember the queasy feeling I had last year when it was time to pack up and leave Legoland Singapore. 3 parts excitement, 2 parts sadness and 2 parts fear made up the cocktail of surging emotions. This might be the exact feeling bungee jumpers get before jumping off the cliff (sadness at the possibility of not seeing loved ones ever again!). Japan was the Land of the Unknown, right up there on the map - strange language, alien culture where people bowed and wore kimonos and gosh no phone-in grocer who understands "nimbu" (lemon) and "dhaniya" (coriander)! Singapore was afterall the kind of place where you could curl up and sleep for the rest of your life. From where you have to be dragged out for a whiff of 'dangerous' air. And when you do- you have forgotten what a challenge looks like. Challenge meter reading always : zero.

One year on and after my challenge meter has seen some vigorous activity (threatening to burn out a few times)-

I am no longer fazed by hearing a strange language and giving a go at speaking it.

I am ok with the feeling of being surrounded by a mass of swirls, strokes and symbols saying important things I may or may not always understand. I can read two out of three Japanese scripts (hiragana and katakana- easy and phonetic) and can recognise roughly 50-60 'kanji' (Chinese charecters - of a total of some 5000! Now theres a start) . The latter is normally done easily by the child in me....oh its that symbol with a pointy hat and three sun rays which means 'switch on' or whatever. Ever tried learning something that is pictorial and can be understood without uttering it phonetically? As fun as kindergarten. And most times enough in Japan to figure if you are lost or are about to eat an eel.

I am ok with spending hours in a public place without exchanging a single conversation with the millions around me. And knowing that I may not be able to, even if I wanted to. Though I can now ask for things in a shop, direct a cab or tell someone I'm lost and if they can kindly tell me the way. And when they do I mostly understand what they are saying. And most importantly tell a waiter that I dont eat fish or meat and if theres is a vegetarian dish on the menu.

I (and family including my 11 year old) am comfortable walking miles and miles of subway, changing lines , after doing some complex plotting on the map of how to get from A TO B (via C,D and E).You see in the small island of Singapore one was never more than a direct 15 minute comfortable cab ride away (and the driver spoke the same language) or taking the subway meant hopping onto one of two lines (N-S, E-W - rarely the N-E) after being transported there by a few speedy escalators. In Tokyo subways often you got to do it the old fashioned way- climb up and down stairs on own two legs and walk miles and miles underground. No of lines? Go figure!

I am also comfortable with not hearing 'propah' subway names in clipped tones like 'Somerset' or 'City Hall' (Singapore).I am most at home listening to names like 'Kokkaigijudomae'!

I can now sanely process the endless zeros in Japanese money (5000, 10,000,20,000 yen....)

I no longer bother to shut cab doors (because they do on their own).

I guess I'm here to stay.

I could go on and on about the myths in my head I held sacred before Tokyo and how each one of them disappeared when challenged. One by one -popping into oblivion like soap bubbles.Tokyo questioned everything I believed in.Like speaking in complete correct sentences is necessary to human communication.That 3.30 pm could mean 3.29 or 3.31 pm (no it cant and it doesnt). Bills/bank statements are always in a language you understand.Paying 2 dollars for one capsicum is wrong.It made me realise there are other Planets man has discovered and life on those planets is really not bad!

Infact its utterly * 'omoshiroi'!!

(* interesting)

Driving 'shiving'...hai rabba!

2007-05-12T18:56:00.000+09:00

Memories of my last driving test are hazy and may need some digital enhancement. I was 18, full of dreams , in a huge dusty Ambassador ( dic: mammoth extinct creature - one of only two brands of cars in India back then) on a dusty road, with a driving 'examiner' beside me just making sure I knew the difference between a cow and a human and didnt rear end either. Passed on both counts - have yellow frayed licence to prove it.

Cut to now....Japan and I am a Born Again Driver after a whole new experience of passing the Japanese drivers licence test. I can say this now with dignity in my voice but last week mention 'menkyo' (licence) and you might have lost my pulse...

This is how the rite of passage goes...

Step 1: (after skipping several micro steps before of paper work,a written exam and so on) Check alamanac and wend your way to 'Samezu' for your driving test - one of those Tokyo areas "that drain your spirit away".A place where wires, railway lines and metal consume you and you feel Doomsday is nigh.

Step 2: Once in the License building you sense it is going to be the Temple of Japanese Bureaucracy (and turns out to be). A buffet of counters and signs in Japanese - nothing in the decor even remotely calming (atleast in Singapore there was 'Mr Bean' on TV screens while you waited in plush carpeted interiors of Govt offices- reassuring you that there are bigger bumbling idiots than you!)

Step 3: Examiner in white and blue uniform gives unintelligible war cry - in Japanese - believed to be a call to herd into Room 1. Ah the comforts of a herd when you have no clue what is being said! FYI- this is an all 'gaijin' (foreigner) herd - there to convert foreign licences. So collective Japanese vocabulary of group, on a good day, equal to - ten or less.

Step 4: More rapid fire commands - that noone understands again but - herd is getting smarter and just follows instinct by now. Collect order number and proceed to a small glass cabin outside overlooking the driving test course.Inside cabin, air redolent with fear, everyone furtively sizing everyone else yet feeling a common bond of 'we are all in it together'....

Step 5: Examiner,long pointer in hand earnestly (and politely of course) explains in loving detail - in pure Japanese- to a bunch of blinking gai-jins all there is to know about the course and its dos and donts. You think - they really want us to pass. Its the thought that counts.You are touched. Turns out that the language of driving is not that evolved and all it needs are basic sounds - hidari(left), migi (right), massugu (straight) and shingo (signal)...

Step 6: Alrighty. Vocabulary in place.One by one warriors take guard and zoom blithely around the deceptively simple course. Just one deadly S curve and a 'clank' ('crank' - 2 L's in a row) to really reckon with. But the way they all return - defeated with uncanny frequency - you wonder. Some who win (pass) yelp with joy and look at the fallen with pity. Some cry - probably not their first or last visit here.

Suffice to say the Japanese test is stringent and expects a tiny bit of perfection in your driving. Technique is paramount - no sloppy turns or chewing gums (yes).Folklore goes that noone passes at first attempt - but my dear husband did and that didnt go down very well with me (who failed).

I did get third time lucky - the first time the devil in white thought I didnt stop long enough at the blinking red 'shingo' and something about wide curves (not mine I'm sure), second time my quaking hands didnt make it past the S curve...

Now a proud owner of a Japanese licence I can tell you I am weighed down by the responsibility of it. I feel humbled.I drive one with the Road and its Rules - in sync with blind spots,yellow lines and deep lefts. The guys at 'Samezu Menkyo Shiken-jo' (Samezu Licence Test Centre) have tamed me and made me realise that there is driving (or 'averting disasters' as we are taught in India) and there is correct driving. They sure talk funny here...

Will think later about how to un-learn all this when back in India....

Miyako Odori - moving!

2007-05-08T10:27:00.000+09:00

Remember 'Miyako Odori' ? And my parting promise that I might become friends with technology someday and get a video clip up and what not....

Well...after some tinkering (and many *$??# later) managed to get this bit of the geisha dance video up on the 'mother- of- all -blogs' - youtube...

Still dont know how to get it all fancily boxed on my blog...like a movie screen...but its a humble beginning....heres the link where you can watch all of 30 secs of the dance - grainy version..

ta da....

http://www.youtube.com/profile?user=preethyash

enjoy!

One, two...

2007-05-04T09:00:00.000+09:00

Bright summer days are almost here in Tokyo. Sakuras have come and gone (check out some late pictures while you read), cold chilly temps are history, Tokyoiites are bundling up their well fitting winter jackets and opting for the light frilly look, the cicadas and birds are back and the trees look lush green and happy - no more spindly sticks reaching out to the skies. Also time to ruminate lazily on one of those inescapable Japanese truths...

In Japan I am learning that two trees are not quite the same as two books. Growing up as a mathemetically challenged kid (and never quite outgrowing it) little did I know that the spectre of numbers would come to haunt me again one day ! And in Japan the horror of numbers and numbering systems has caught up with me with darned venegence.The language of Japanese numbers can drive you insane sometimes.Read on...

Here I am at a flower shop wanting to ask the man for another stalk of flower (all I could afford looking at the price tags) and I begin to feel my brain quiver in its bony case,my lips purse, brows furrow...Thinking hard.The flower is long, but not cylindrical, not flat, but kind of not big nor small so then- is it 'ippon','hitotsu' or plain 'ichi'? Why is grass green? What is life? Who am I? What am I? Am I? URRRGH.. Existential questions.Momentary state of delirium/panic. Because,dahlings, all those words mean the number 1 in Japanese- but for different objects of different shapes! Ippon could be one tree, hitotsu would be a cup of coffee at Starbucks and ichi could be your door no. As many number names as things... Japanese forefathers clearly believed that making an already devilish thing (like 'rithmetic) even more wicked can only add spice to life! Any downsides to it? Nah. Except for obscure 'gai-jin's(foreigners - like me) tearing their hair over say, a stalk of dahlia...anyway...

The plot thickens when it comes to dates and days.The first of a month has a unique name (tsuitachi). Begin panic mode. After that its a variation of the hitotsu-futatsu counting system - futska(2nd) mikka (3rd)....so on. 4th of a month is yokka and 8th is yoka. Cruel illusion, I ask my Japanese sen-sei (teacher)? No she says looking at me pitifully- dont you see,the first one is yokka and the other one is yo- oka.Oh right I say scratching my head - all the time my Maths teacher's prophecies years ago ringing ominously true in my ears - 'you have no future with numbers'.

Try this if you want to navigate through the maze of Japanese 'counters' -

(Suffixes used depending on what you are counting )

-dai : machines,cars,bikes..
-mai- flat objecst like shopping bags,paper..
-hon: pens cigarettes,trees, long cylindrical objects
- hai: glasses and cups
- nin: people
- ko: fruit,cakes,eggs , small chunky objects
- satsu : books
- kai: floors (1st,2nd ..)

At the flower shop,by now managing to look calm and collected, I settle for a safe,general type "mo hitotsu kudasai"- one more (flower) please.Atleast I didnt splutter foolishly and the man did reach out for a stalk of dahlia....I must have done something right.

Since then my Japanese teacher has gently broken the news to me that animals,birds, squids(ah.to cry out loud) and horses all have different counters. I think I am safe for now. Atleast those dont figure too often on my shopping list!

Gion and the geishas

2007-04-21T06:38:00.000+09:00

If one could peel through layers of time, somewhere hidden in Kyoto's narrow alleys is Sayuri's world (Memoirs of a Geisha - by Arthur Golden). One expects to see geishas flitting around while hand drawn rickshaws ferry rich 'dannas' (patrons) in pursuit of an evening with their favourite geisha.

But todays Gion - the most famous geisha district in Kyoto- might be a shadow of its past glory. We saw fewer geishas and the dannas were probably struggling to find parking space for their Hondas in the closest lot! But the mysterious world of geikos and maikos (geisha and apprentice in Kyoto dialect) is all there to be felt in Gion's interesting alleys.

Peter Mcintosh's walk takes you through narrow cobblestoned lanes closed-in by dank wooden houses and rows of red lanterns..Entry into teahouses is restricted (No grubby toursits).Occasionally Peter nudges us to show us an approaching geisha. The geisha- probably a 'maiko' - apprentice geisha - flutters past in a colourful kimono and high heeled wooden clogs in short mincing footsteps like fluttering butterflies. Before you recover from a crippling bout of awe and nervousness the geisha is gone leaving behind a shaky digital picture with you!

The 'okiya's (geisha houses) still stand. Wooden houses with names of the geishas at the door.So does the Gion Kaburenjo theatre - venue of the annual spring dance and Minami za, a Kabuki theatre past the bridge at Shijo dori . And the geisha school where Sayuri and Pumpkin cut their teeth.

For anyone who has read the book(by no means the best/most authentic representation of Kyoto's geishas) - this is where fiction becomes reality, ignoring the Starbucks round the corner.

The Ichiriki Teahouse - the biggest teahouse in Gion - the scene of many bitter face offs between Sayuri, Mameha-san and Hatsumomo - stands at a corner in Gion - an imposing wooden structure.

The weeping cherry blossoms dripping into Gions gurgling canals with wooden bridges;

Rows of wooden eateries on the edge reflecting their light into the water and cherry blossoms lit up by a thousand lights - all exuded the aura of a movie set that evening.

To cap our trip we took seats at the Gion Kaburenjo thatre to watch Miyako Odori - the annual spring dance performed every April by Gion's geikos and maikos. After hurredly guzzling down our 50th cup (or so) of bitter matcha (thick sludgy green tea) in Kyoto -a package deal with the 4000 Y tickets...

As the curtain opened,the geisha music ensemble of shamisens,drums and flutes burst to life.A string of bright kimonos make their entry "like a string of beads".Painted expressionless faces, keep the mystery intact. As geishas twirled gracefully, wafting in the background were lilting strains from the assortment of small string,wind and percussion instruments and thin plaintive voices singing about spring,lovers' pain and longing (so it seemed).Not surprising that the dances had no unbridled movements, no assertive thumps on the stage - no jhatka matkas , if you get my drift. All contained and set to a structured pattern. Never enough to say- in Japan there is simply no place for maverick expression , even in a dance...

I hope to one day crack the mysteries of technology and get video shots up on this blog.Miyako Odori is best seen and heard.Until then this has to suffice...

Kyoto - past or present?

2007-04-04T12:39:00.000+09:00

Kyoto is two and a half hours flat from Tokyo on the 'shinkansen' - a.k.a the bullet train. A 6-8 hour journey slashed down mercilessly. I think I'm just in love with the idea of the bullet train. There are trains as fast (the French TGV faster) but none as romantic as this - in my eyes. The sleek sharp nosed 'nozomi' (hope in Japanese) super fast express shears through Japan's crowded countryside with not a rattle, at speeds higher than 300 km/hr. Occasionally a Mt Fuji may appear in the horizon making you feel you are in a postcard.

Japan's countryside seems perpetually dotted with human living.The unending stretch of habitation makes sense when you realise that Japan's 130 million are squeezed into just 25 % of habitable land (75% mountainous),making it one of the densest countries in the world.

Kyoto is the cultural epicentre of Japan. It is said,that it is where the Japanese come to feel more Japanese.Before a visit, it might help to keep in mind , that Kyoto is among the most visited tourist destinations after Mecca (a big chunk of it -domestic tourists). A detail we should have checked before dreaming of quiet strolls in Zen gardens and peaceful shrines! More about that later.

The Seikoro ryokan (a Japanese inn) , where we stayed, was quaint enough to give us an authentic experience but tailored enough to offer English breakfast! Would probably make a purist cringe. But we were the earnest vegetarians ready for the Japanese experience sans the sashimi (and armed with MTR 'tadka dal' in our bag just in case).The culinary dimension of a ryokan lost on us, we persisted by sleeping on 'futon' mattresses (very comfortable), quaffing all the bitter green tea served by sweet Hiromi and flip flopping in slippers wearing crisply laundered cotton yukatas.We also bypassed the 'onsen' (public bath) experience and stuck to using the match box sized facility attached to our room..we really have'nt done well with the purists so far.

The aura in the ryokan was personal. The warm woody interiors striking the right chord.Every entry into the ryokan was greeted with a gush of bowing (but of course) and greetings. And the shoe-removing, slipper -donning ritual. In Japan I am beginning to understand the seriousness of neatly lined footwear.We got a clue of it last year, when our housing agents at each house-viewing visit, cleaned up after us (our carelessly flung shoes- pointing in different directions-a sin I am sure punishable in Japanese hell).The definitive moment when the red neons flashed in our minds- 'Welcome to Japan'!

After Tokyo, Kyoto (interestingly anagrammatic) seemed like a small town/city- more laid back and relaxed. In many ways reminding me of Mysore (city in S.India). Or an organised Phnom Penh(Cambodia).Certainly more 'Asian' and down to earth.

But dont get this wrong.Kyoto is as modern as it is traditional, has its own Park Avenue (Shijo dori) and a bustling nightlife.We may not have staggered out of pubs but we certainly loved munching our vegetarian sandwiches in some of the atmospheric cafes around.

Sometimes one wonders if Kyoto is on the edge of two worlds - past and present - not quite sure where/what to turn to.

Some other Kyoto experiences we carried back -

-Hajime Hirooka (or Johnnie Hillwalker) the wisened tour guide who takes you on a 5 hour walking tour of inner Kyoto."World famous guide"."Walk in Kyoto-Talk in English". "Slow,easy,no up and down". "No reservations". Just show up at Kyoto Station at 10 am. And show up we did - a drove of eager tourists. In many ways Hajime Hirooka could be Kyoto in human form - old and wise yet shrewd enough to be in with today's flow.

-The unending line up of shrines and temples - all beautiful if you could peel the layers of tourists and cameras surrounding them.. in this peak season might need a stretch of imagination to feel the shoguns and monks of yore meandering down tranquil rock gardens musing on life to the sound of birds (instead of clicking cameras). None of the monuments possesed the grandeur and artistic scale of say a 10 A.D temple in India or a church in Europe - but then Japan is all about minimalism and subtelty.No arguments there.

-Sakura lined canals along Kiyamachi dori and 'Philosphers Walk (Tetsugaku no michi)

-Bustling alley of Ponto Cho with small smoky eateries cheek and jowl

- And the geishas...

More on that next time!

If its 90 degrees it must be the Emperor...

2007-03-26T09:10:00.000+09:00

Random thoughts before i pack bags for Kyoto...about one of those oh-so-Japanese things that surround you in Japan.

Recently at a traffic signal (where I had stopped for red) I saw a group of Japanese, all in black apparently departing after a good meal. What I really did see was a flurry of continously tilting bodies in the dark.Some 10 of them, each one bowing to everyone else - more than once. Requires a good head for maths (not mine) to figure how many bows might have been exchanged that night on that one patch of a Tokyo sidewalk before the light turned green!

So bowing in Japan is not just a cliche? Certainly not. The one thing you quickly get used to when you start living here. Just that coming from a place where a 'thank you' can be as rare as a well...masala sushi (in Mumbai for eg.) such heavy duty niceties can become deeply moving experiences !!

Its all in the angle of tilt.Small quick bows - for casual greetings, 20-30 degrees angle maybe to an aunt, 45 degrees to colleagues or business associates. Though my newspaperwala gives me the full tilt (90 full respectful degrees!) every month (visits to collect money) - an honour reserved only for the Emperor and God!! I have been the recipient of eitiquette variously from plumbers, dish washer repairmen, shopkeepers,fellow drivers on the road (the angles there would be sparing - thank god)...and so the Japanese experience flourishes..

Scandals and mishaps break out regularly in Japan - surprising? The only difference is that you also see regularly, a clutch of bowing heads across newspapers and TV news - all penitent (apparently) for the 'wrong' they did! The Sony Chairman after a battery debacle,company executives after their water heaters exploded,even the poor Canadian airplane manufacturers after a plane mishap in Japan.Think- Laloo bowing at a press conference after a train accident or to rake up more recent wounds - Sharad Pawar bowing after India's World Cup loss and you just know the gravity of what I'm talking about!

Ja mata raishu....(until next week) :-)

Photo Source :Japan Today

Two worlds.A street apart.

2007-03-23T09:06:00.000+09:00

Nope. No signs of elusive 'Sakura-san' yet. But Spring Equinox was in the air last Wednesday - a public holiday in Japan, following another holiday a few weeks ago marking the official 'end of winter'. Do you blame me for getting sucked into this whole seasons business then? Last March, I would have said 'equinoxes' (?) were short notes you wrote in geography tests. They are real? Gimme a break. But now I realise- humbly- that the earth does tilt on its axis now and then - giving us so many beautiful moods..

Must remember to stop this incessant seasons talk...

Ok cut to...warm sunny day. Tokyoiites out celebrating the equinox. Husband and I.Cameras in hand.Two trigger happy souls.(thats virtual haiku,eh)
When (if) you visit Tokyo, this will definitely be on your list. Fodors or Lonely Planet will approve heartily.Ometesando and Harajuku. Two worlds as apart as Bhendi Bazaar (Mumbai) and Champs Elysees. But just one street apart. Two parallel worlds.

As you exit out of Omotesando station there stretches in front of you the tree lined (now leafless) Champs Elysees of Tokyo (officially).Throbbing with style and fashion. It is there to be seen,felt, tasted ,smelled....so much trend in one place.Heck.There must be redemption.

Tokyoiites strut around in abashed designer stuff. Divas all (men too). Paying respects to their deities Kate Spade and Fendi. Even Tokyo's architecture (which otherwise is tragic - remember the 'Feeling bombed' post) seems to have found expression here. Store fronts challenge you with attitude - dare to walk in for a 5000 buck bag?

Omotesando. Cutting edge fashion.

And then....you turn a bend at the Meiji-jingumae station and see the quaint 'old world' Harajuku station (JR line). So far so good. But you already sense something changing. Manolo Blaniks are morphing into bright red socks and pink shiny boots. Subtly accentuated cheekbones have turned into splatters of paint and black kohl. You have entered Takeshita dori - a voice so different from Ometesando's its startling.

Takeshita dori - is the Home of Teen Kitsch. The World Capital. HQ of Bawd. My hunch- it is the place for you if you are 16,brooding,full of angst and a score to settle with society..It is where goth kids find a safe place to over-express. Blue hair. Pink ribbons. Pierced lips, nose, tongue. A normal day.The narrow lane is dense with cavernous shops pedalling props for this bizarre gothic drama.Accessories of all colours,shapes,luminiscence are here. All so 'kawaii' ('cute' in Japanese - said with a prolonged squeal)!!

Interesting to stand and watch. But always confusing.What drives them to it? I wish I could stop that bleached punk to ask. Why are you here looking like this? Does your mother know? Have you sublimated your angst into this rainbow coloured hat? But obviously my two word Japanese vocabulary doesnot allow me any further sociological insights! Instead out comes a meek - "shashin o totte mo ii desu ka?" Thats six words. Is it ok to take a picture?

The Fall/Spring Collection

2007-03-19T11:33:00.000+09:00

I can feel the spring chill. A bite in the air with the hope of warmer days.Having lived in tropical Mumbai and Singapore (1 degree latitude) I have, it seems, missed out on all the fun of seasons! What a pity. I am just discovering the drama of it now - better late than never.

The magnolia tree outside my window just bloomed and withered. Another one is bursting with possibilities.Everyday we crane our necks. And....there is anticipation in the air for the 'star' of the show- the sakura (cherry blossom)! One would think that the Japanese have gotten over their seasons fetish by now and that its left upto us 'island types' to do the dance. But no - they seem equally euphoric when a leaf changes colour! We saw hordes teeming to see the 'koyo' (autumn leaves) during autumn (including us of course) and I know hordes are waiting to descend upon unsuspecting cherry blossoms this season (including us). Cherry blossom viewing parties (hanami) are the done things. Japan has 'flower calendars' and 'blossom bulletins'. And all cameras in Japan (with tripods) are on high alert this season(including ours- minus tripod).

For me, when last summer changed to autumn it was like the scene on a drama set changed - everything- the landscape, the props , the costumes, the mood... out went summery clothes, in came the smart jackets, scarves and boots. Out went casual dressing, in came Tokyo's Fall Collection! Never a badly dressed Japanese in sight. It was the season when I felt perpetually under dressed with my one black jacket (neither Prada-nor Gucci but water proof with fleece lining).

We go to Kyoto next week hoping to catch a geisha fanning herself under a pink cherry blossom tree.Stereotype junkies? You bet.

Feeling bombed

2007-03-14T11:33:00.000+09:00

I love my walks in Tokyo. I love big bad cities. I simply love the crazy energy and hustle of wicked cities. Exactly why Mumbai is still one of my favourite cities,why the clang of Hong Kong trams was music to my ears as a tourist and now loving Tokyo. Each morning as I walk and wander in downtown lanes I cant help gawk.I can endlessly marvel at the mass of wires and neurosis that is Tokyo. I warned ya I was a city gal.

This blew me off. I saw this apartment block one day (check pic below)...the building in the middle with stacks of cubes each with a porthole. Each cube is one single apartment. Yes - one cube, one window,one home. I had seen this earlier in a National Geographic documentary.But now I knew it was for real.

Tokyo can get you down sometimes. The greyness and bleakness draining the spirits out of you. You can feel you are in a post-apocalyptic 'manga' (Japanese comics) city where everything has been bombed and has no future. Featureless architecture, overhead cables criss crossing, sooty underbellies of mammoth over-bridges. Expression less men in black suits.Tokyo's big (really big) fat crows cawing deep guttral caws like Messengers of Death and Destruction - help complete the picture of gloom.Took me a while to get used to those guys!

After living in picture perfect Singapore - where things had to look good and getting glimpses of Hong Kong's fabulous skyline with the backdrop of green hills, Tokyo needed raw guts to like! Always makes me wonder how the same people who gave us ikebana could come up with such soulless stuff. I am already thinking - like India, Japan may not be easy to crack.

Those men in skimpy wear

2007-03-09T10:42:00.000+09:00

It was something we all grew up with - images of beefy men in skimpy wear barely able to contain all that fat. They evoked a strange mix of awe and horror. As we settled into our viewing box at the Tokyo's Ryogaku Sumo Stadium last September, the feeling was surreal.I thought to myself - it cant get more Japanese than this!

Pre match -crowds mill at the entrance to watch wrestlers make their entry into the stadium- almost red carpet fashion. In their 'yukatas' (kimono like cottony gowns) and artistically coiffured hair dos - the complexity of the knot an indication of sumo ranking. The gusto of cheering seems directly proportional to the sumo's status.Some stars , some wannabes.

A bit about the system.The sumo world rests on a strong hierarchial ranking (banzuke') system .The 'yokuzuna' is at the top followed by the ozekis,sekiwakes and the makuuchis. Below them are the lowly life of the sumo world who have yet to make it to the top of the 'banzuke' .Top sumos enjoy celebrity status complete with scandals and affairs tagged on.

The actual wrestling bout is over in a blink, but the 'rituals' and chanting surrounding it are fascinating. Men (refrees and 'announcers') in elaborate gowns chant long plaintive cries or read out of ornate scrolls. Sumos parade (slow lumbering giants)in heavily embroidered aprons (thousand dollars worth) accompanied by the deep steady beats of a drum. Everything is sombre and sepulchral.As if playing out of a thousand year old rule book no one dared to change.

The day we watch the match (one of a 10 day fest) the stadium is honoured by the presence of Japan's Royal Family - Crown Prince Naruhito,Crown Princess Masako and their daughter Princess Aiko. As they settle in the Imperial Box they are greeted with enthusiasm and adoration. They wave and smile at us lesser 'subjects' .That settled, the tournament begins...

Menace hangs heavy in the air as rivals take to the rink before a bout .Wrestlers lumber around the rink, slapping their thighs loudly and sprinkling salt around (purifying the space). After what seems an eternity of slapping and sprinkling - serious business begins...wrestlers thump hard on the rink blowing whiffs of dust ,charge forward, grasp each other,fling or get flung onto the bales (rink made of straw bales)- all over in a jiffy. Match over.More chanting.Droning. Next bout. Same rituals.
Match after match sumos fight for their place in the top league. Loud cheers alternating with ritualistic chants- the days proceedings unfold in a fascinating show of strength and drama. At the end of the day spectators applaud in an oddly paradoxical way by throwing pillows in the air - for a brief moment the mood gets flippant.

After its all over, we hop back on our subway train homewards as if snapping out of a dream.Here we were back in the cling and clang of Tokyo's concrete subway holding on to our memories of men in gowns, men in skimpy wear,salt throwing and soulful chants. Images from another world, another era...for now we must remember to get off at the right station...

Azabu Juban - love at first sight

2007-03-07T11:28:00.000+09:00

Azabu Juban - our home in Tokyo for now is a charming little pocket in the heart of Tokyo's grey landscape.Surrounded by the buzz of neurotic Roppongi - the seedy sleazy pub district on one side and the high rise 'Roppongi Hills' - a glitzy happening mall- on the other, Azabu Juban doesnt seem to have anything to do with all that. Almost Parisian in charm,yet very Japanese, the small shopping area seems to exist on its own terms. Small hat boutiques to bakeries called St Moritz.Dog saloons to atmospheric cafes. Narrow winding hilly lanes.Cobble stoned to boot. It's all about charm and atmosphere.

A walk through Azabu has led us to some amazing discoveries. Small dimly lit hole-in-the-wall cafes where we thought we spotted a sax player playing to a cosy group of drinkers.A flower shop abutting a pet cemetry. 'M.Roman' selling 'juicy couture' (whatever).Even a kaleidoscope shop! It was like stepping into Mary Poppins' world.Kaleidoscopes in all sizes and shapes! Different worlds in different kaleidoscopes- one more awesome than the other. Come to think of it - a lot like our own time here in Japan!

Sleeping in Tokyo

2007-03-06T15:54:00.000+09:00

Zen on the move.

These are pictures taken by my intrepid husband on Tokyo's subway! Wont be too long before one of these weary passengers wakes up to accost him! Till then....

Cars and dogs

2007-03-06T14:56:00.000+09:00

In Tokyo, cars and dogs are more than just transport and pets. Fashion accessories? The range is exotic and simply mindboggling . In the birthplace of Honda and Toyota -it is the Lamborghinis,Aston Martins and Porsches that are hot.Ironical. Convertibles that look like space shuttles or cars that dont look like cars at all. For that matter dogs that dont like dogs...giant poodles, skinny whippets, tiny poodles,Alaskan huskies,mammoth Great Danes...this is the Road Show for dog lovers (like me)!

My son and I never fail to peer into the dog saloon near our supermarket. While we move on with our daily load of bread and milk, the lucky pooches are getting a manicure here and a massage there.After which they will, no doubt, slip into designer wear(no exaggeration) and walk their well heeled paws on the cobbled sidewalks while their blow dried hair waves in the wind.Lucky dogs.

The car and dog fest is never ending. Its like walking through make believe world. Where dogs have hair dos and cars no roof. Excuse me, while I gape.

To be illiterate

2007-03-05T11:16:00.000+09:00

Regular grocery shopping is what I set out to do in my first week of moving to Tokyo. One hour on-emerged spent and exhausted! So this is what it felt like to be an illiterate! Looking at 'pictures' to figure out.A detergent or a softener? But hey this smiling woman on the label could be doing anything. I look around to ask- but who? How? Stone walled. The feeling is scary.

My husband and I refused to take a cab in the early days.Better to walk than stare blank at an equally blank face (cabbie).Or flail violent 'left'' and right' hands. And then it happened. Three magic words. 'Hidari'. 'Migi'. Massugu'. Left. Right.Straight. Voila.We could actually will our way to our destination now! We have come a long way since. To holding somewhat halting conversations with the cabbie about the weather,India or life in Tokyo. And not freezing at the thought of calling a cab.I am sure we have been forgiven for all our wrong innotations and impolite phrases!

How we bought our cycle in the first week of our stay deserves another blog!

Learning 'survival Japanese' is what we call it. And man ,its empowering.

Other useful phrases: (we parrot regularly)

arigato gozaimasu (thank you) - learn it as your plane taxis into Narita-its your life line

xyz (destination) made(mud-ay) onegashimasu (take me to xyz)- to the cabbie

koko de tomete kudasai (please stop here) - u r in a speeding cab remember?

ikura desu ka? (how much does this cost?)

hai hai (yes yes)

wakarimashita (i understand) - even if you didnt (nicely replaces the blank stare)

..or when your vocab runs out on you (soon) - Nihon-go wakarimasen (I dont understand Japanese) - meaning -I give up!

About masalaSushi : A million sensations

2007-03-03T18:46:00.000+09:00

Capturing Tokyo is like trying to catch a thousand different sensations in a bottle. New sights and sounds. A world like no other. Planet Japan.
Since we moved here last July, from the easy predictability of Singapore, this place has never ceased to amaze me.

Just a walk down Shibuya - a crowded shopping district confounds you. Sea of people in all hues and styles.Pouring into and draining out of Hachiko crossing (the worlds most crowded crossing?). A cackle of neon signs and flashing bill boards saying their own things -in strange foreign gibberish. Groups of youth hanging around with r-e-b-e-l written all over them and their pink psycedelic eye shadows.Sales girls shouting out their ware in shrill school girl voices.An unentangleable mass of sights and sounds.

Just when I thought Tokyo is all about frenzy and pulse I see the beautiful white blooms outside my window with a small bird pecking at its petals. And think of all thats delicate, hushed and classy.Graceful Japanese ways. Tea cermonies, bowing and softly modulated voices. Where packaging is an art and small is beautiful. Where almost everything has a 'way' of doing it.The only place where bowing to fellow drivers on the road exists!

My mind says not to rush. Go one sensation at a time. Trying to decipher Japan with my Mumbai-battered brain may just be like trying to make masala sushi! Impossible. All I can do is ramble on- on a blog. Sayonara!