You might wonder if Shibuya and Shimokitazawa are at the two ends of Japan. No way! These are two market magnets in my neighbourhood Komaba, within just a mile and half radius. My desire to be one with the tech-savvy Todaiites and Tokyo-to-min (aka Tokyoites) tempted me to text Moritaka, my brother’s business associate in Tokyo. He joyfully agreed to help me buy a phone during the weekend. We’ve decided to meet the next day at 12 noon and he mailed me the location map of my place just to reconfirm. I cannot figure out if his phone call from the lobby buzzed first or the clock struck twelve. Saturday being my day off, I was web-wandering as usual, and was not ready (what’s new???). I grabbed my jacket in a jiffy and rolled down the stairs to join my Japanese friend on our jaunt. Soon, I could not pace with him as he moved swiftly being a six-footer, unlike most Japanese men. It was my first train journey in Japan; a short 120\ trip from Komaba-todaime to Shibuya with Shinsen station in between. The Komaba station and the train were full of high school kids each with a smart phone, looking as if it was genetically glued to their hands as a sixth finger. Within minutes we were at Shibuya. Although I was at the station for a brief while, I could not miss the uniformed station attendant waiting with a small mobile ramp to help an elderly wheel chaired woman descend the train. To be honest, the train floor seemed flush with the platform, and did not demand a ramp. But it mattered here when ‘human comfort and safety’ formed the epicenter of design. Added to these were the diagonal lines on the floor for queuing in front of a train, and the continuous stretches of yellow bands of ‘tactile flooring’ for the visually impaired. Every nook and corner echoed people centric thinking. Shibuya is a busy place by any measure. High rise malls with stock piles of hevavy price-tags, small shops doing big business, restaurants with live music and displays of fine delicacies and drinks, giant LCD screens on the building facades with lucid images of dancers, cozy shops spilling into the sidewalks with pedestrians vying with the cyclists silently, and much more; all this minus the hawkers or the hoardings or the deafening horns of cars or the hogwash. Moritaka had tough time finding a place with a vegetarian menu among the myriad restaurants. Finally, we discovered the Dubliners’, an Irish chain, a small place loaded with Europeans. While he picked French fries and the club shaped fish cutlets with beer, he chose baked cheese-rice-mushroom casserole for me, carefully mentioning the waitress with a digital smart pad, not to add meat with rice, and I chose water to wine. With my not so great experience of gulping an Asian meal last week aboard, I did not want to risk stuffing my belly with this ‘cheesy’ stuff. I promptly served half the rice to Moritaka. Puffing the piping hot bake, I had a small bite, fully apprehensive of its ability to appease my Indian vegetarian palate. As the soft creamy cheese melted, the sweet aroma delectably took over my senses. I was so engrossed in savoring the rice to its last grain that I didn’t notice Moritaka’s anxious response to some phone call. We quickly moved to a modest mobile shop. He patiently explained my laundry list of phone features to the sales boy. What happened thereafter reminded me of my childhood days of listening to the BBC Broadcasts with my father: Greek and Latin with some rhythmic sounds. All I could do was, give some dead smiles when the sales guy looked at me for approval. Moritaka’s phone rang more fervently, and I knew something was wrong. His wife is having an abdominal pain. She is unable to even pick her 11 month boy. An emergency! In no time, I was all alone in the shop with none speaking English, a real gaizin (foreigner) in Japan. It was dusk already. After half an hour of struggles to both of us, my new iphone 4s (32g) was delivered to me! My new white mobile baby, active and buzzing! Fully equipped, I decided to walk back home using the GPS. After a few testing trials, I could trace the route. I started marching through the narrow lanes and bylines, with the gadget in hand, moving back and forth every time the blue ball went out of line. After a while, I saw the battery running out too fast. I got a couple of phone calls and messages may be from Moritaka, but I could not hear! (Who else knew my number?) How kind of him to consider my welfare even during a personal emergency! At around half the distance, I lost my way and accosted a cop to direct me to the Shinsen station, just a stone throw away. He promptly got down from the car, opened his mega map book and searched under the torch light. We could not understand each other. I could even hear the sounds of the station. It was so near! But I could not reach there. I knew, I did not use the GPS well. I looked for a ‘getting started menu’ or something like help, but there were none. My earlier usage of an iphone never marched past the first screen, as my friend always locked it. The battery is now exhausted to 20% from the 75% when I started, although I was not! Without the GPS, I thought it prudent to take a train at Shibuya, saving the remaining battery for any contingency! (What greater thing can befall?? I didn’t even have any local contact number to call, or tell my tale then). Closing the GPS, I strode all the way back to the mobile shop. There, he removed the plastic wrap, and lo, the phone was audible!!! I went to the Shibuya station next door. It was overflowing, as if River Godavari has flown here with people saving the precious waters for us. People, people everywhere, but not a face I know! Being a junction, Shibuya had so many gates, and promptly, I hit the wrong door. I asked a boy waiting there about the train to Komabatodaime. He wouldn’t get me in the first go. He browsed through his HTC android, and then took me to another gate about 100 meters away. I bought the ticket with his help, for in the hour of confusion, I could not sift English through the Japanese menu at the counter. Only after I said sayanora to him, I realized my woes did not end there. I was on the opposite platform this time! On enquiring frantically, I got into the right train, only to exit through the other gate at Komabatodaime. Nothing there seemed familiar to what I saw in the afternoon. With nobody around to ask, I walked all the way up, towards the second gate! I landed at my place with a white elephant after a kilometer long brisk walk. The next morning, I set out alone, on the Shimokitazawa expedition to get my weekly fix of oranges; this time fully geared up with a bottle of water, the book of contacts, a Google map printed with directions and street views in color and a pencil to take notes. My white elephant took the task of taking pictures en route, just in case. For there are no street signs in the neighbourhood, navigating through these labyrinthine alleys is not so easy. On my return, I learnt it was not tough either. I folded the map this time, for the memory map needed no battery: a steep narrow lane, a wide busy road, an Indian eatery and a Chinese lantern at the corner, a beautiful bunch of carnations on the ledge, the LCD advertisement of the barber shop, the sound of water from the manhole beneath, everything was helping me home. This time I didn’t take a U-turn. My trifling triangular triumph in Tokyo, finally! | |
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