The Benjamin Button in me

It is amazing how different phases in life bring with them their own epiphanies and highs. I write this relaxed, a tad reflective, breathing easy, aware of all my inhales and exhales. This also comes after reading a report in the newspaper this morning that young women are more driven about their careers now than before. They are postponing marriage and motherhood for their goals. Not to judge. But to say that life need not be lived in any one sequence. Especially by women?

I am 'in between' things now - sometimes a better way of saying 'I am out of a job' or 'I was downsized' or help 'I'm a loser waiting to be rescued' or some such life crisis. I quit my job of 4 years at a local NGO (working with children and families) and have embarked on an ambitious journey to study (full time, 2 years) and emerge at the other end hopefully, wiser and more intimidating!

What, study at 'this' age, is the average (horrified) reaction I get to this (or is it in my head - I can never tell). I know I will have course mates as old as my son, most of my teachers, I'm sure will be younger than me and alright I do forget names easily these days. But I must say, I have never been more clearer in my head and with that kind of clarity, I bet I can whoop some young asses in my class.

I think I am done with the harder parts of playing mother, of 'sacrificing my life' (never liked those words, still don't) for the Greater Good and being a stay at home mom for my two scruffy boys. My parenting these days is largely restricted to gently requesting them to shave and/or have a bath, now and then, if possible, only if they want to.....

So now for some serious space reclaiming.

There is something to be said about living life in the reverse. Its fun, rewarding and feels incredibly light. Its time to go over a few cliches, that noone ever believes. Age is just a number. You are as old as you believe you are. There is life after motherhood. And so on. But really Benjamin Button is not just a flippant notion, sister. Its there to be lived. And enjoyed. 

A few of my favourite toys...

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

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

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

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...

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

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

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

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.....

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

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

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

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!!

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

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

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