“Ohayo gozaimasu!” (Good Morning!)
My feeble attempt at speaking in a sophisticated language like Japanese was met with utter perplexity and a flabbergasted expression by the elderly man sitting in front of me. He quickly scurried off with a bounce in his steps, leaving me alone on a foreign street, shrouded by an eerie silence that fateful morning. My marvellous brain had managed to achieve a feat no one else could ever surpass – being lost in the land of the Rising Sun.
The fiasco began earlier that morning when I was jamming to the song ‘Lost in Japan’ by Shawn Mendes in my suite. I gathered all my Dora the Explorer travel gear, to traverse the city of my dreams, Tokyo. I boarded a local bus, and decided in a childish moment of illumination that I would get off at the fifth destination. I hopped down at Takayama, with my bag containing my credit card, hotel keys, some wet wipes and a pocket mirror. Twenty minutes into my self-funded tour, I realised that Takayama was indeed a village located in the north-western part of Kyoto. That’s when it hit me with the force of a truck, that all my dreams of becoming the next David Rocco of the East had been crushed ruthlessly!
A Japanese village is like a shrine in the middle of a forest. People don’t speak any other language except Japanese, they are dressed in traditional kimono and the only existence of modernization are the tractors whirring at a distance in the hundreds of acres of land devoted to farming. I must have looked like a hooligan, clad in rainbow trousers, standing with a dumbfounded expression in the middle of a dusty village street.
Getting back to the mournful episode of how I scared off the seemingly-genteel grandpa. After my strange encounter, I kept walking to ease my nerves and, I have to admit, the scenery was breath-taking! Tall, thick trees with lush, green leaves decorating their branches; serene wide fields laden with various crops, and the organised streets gleaming with a light of perfection. That’s when I felt a gaze on me and alarmed, turned my head around to be met with a pair of onyx black eyes, staring right at me.
A woman in a light blue kimono beckoned me closer, a sweet smile on her face. She was attractive and could be of some help, I thought. I gave a slight bow and breathed out in a gentle voice, “You speak English?” The woman gave an apprehensive nod which instantly lit up my features. The woman asked me in a worried tone, “You hungry?” A loud growl from my stomach left no room for further argument. I followed the kind lady.
While we were walking, my gaze fell on several sign boards indicating the directions in intricate patterns of yellow and black. An exasperated sigh left my mouth when I thought about the humiliation I could have avoided if only I had paid more attention to the Japanese classes back at home. Lesson learned - never waste your time drooling over food. I was brought out of my pity-party when we stopped in front of a house, shaped in the traditional pagoda style. What I didn’t expect to see was the same old man who ran away from me, standing there with an apologetic smile. I was shell shocked. The lady seemed to have noticed my distress, “My father. He came and told me about you. So I help you.” I wanted to worship every possible god present at that moment. Subsequently, I found myself relishing in the taste of freshly steamed momos, fried rice cakes, steamy takoyaki, crunchy rice crackers and a bowl of ramen. I slurped the noodles up and almost moaned at the heavenly taste. According to Japanese tradition, if constant lip-smacking and slurping is heard from your guest, it means the efforts of the host have been highly appreciated. And boy, did I love every bite of it! The woman, Mizuki, gave me a tour of the quaint village. The Yanaka and Shibuka shrines were astounding. I bought a pair of geta wooden sandals and Mizuki’s father gifted me a lucky charm so as to not get lost again. Somewhat embarrassing, but it was the thought that counted.
At 6 pm, I boarded a bus back to Nippori, to my hotel, waving goodbye to my new friends. Mizuki even gave me a flying kiss to emphasize her affection! Even today, I chuckle remembering the events of that day. The Japanese are a wonderful people; they accepted me for who I was. This made me respect Japan even more and there is a particular phrase they taught me that I would never forget my entire life:
“Ima no mama no anatagasukida yo.” (I love you just the way you are).
-Sunaina Sabat
BA (H) Pol Science
(Edited by Malayka and Pallavi
Art curated by Ritika)
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