A chapter closes.

Another chapter draws to a close

This post is going to be extremely introspective which is just as well since as I have been saying from the start the entire point to me writing a blog is so that I can read it later and remember the days of my life. My time in the sun.

My vacation in Japan draws to a close and as expected it is with a confused and conflicted mind that I return. I am intentionally typing this slowly so that the contents don't end up sounding flood like in tone.

This is the first time I have done anything of this magnitude and it has been amazing. I had to ask myself many difficult questions, some dealing with minor decisions perhaps concerning what to eat for a meal and some others dealing with where to dedicate an entire days worth of time and then some dealing with those ever present questions of life itself. It was very rewarding to be able to answer these questions myself even though I had less than a perfect record on answering those questions belonging to that last category.

Sometimes all I want to do is to sit on a stone and look at a calm garden, everything dancing in the breeze, punctuated by the murmur of water, tranquil and calm. It is perhaps no surprise that most Buddhist and zen temples have such gardens. Even a chaotic mind like mine, undisciplined as they come, silences itself in reverence of the surroundings. For the time when I am there, I am not worried about anything. No worries about my job, my future, immigration concerns, the crushing loneliness that walks hand in hand with me and so on. Everything drops away and there is only me.

How can one simply spend all of his days sitting on a stone though? Throw everything else away? Don't worry about family, career, owning stuff and all of the other checkpoints that adorn a modern man's life? Yes. That is indeed the answer to that question. Which is why a lot of monks cast away the trappings of their old lives when they embark on the ascetic's journey. Since I know the answer it only makes sense that I try thinking about applying it to myself. My mind shudders, it recoils in fear, it runs away screaming. I am not ready. Will I ever be ready? Sadly, I know not.

And so now I return.

To the day in day out tedium, to this life which I have known for a few years now, open my door go inside and the same frozen frame awaits me. I dread this more than almost anything I have feared and yet I know that I can not escape it. Yet. 

Now I return.

This trip did teach me some lessons though. It taught me the importance of cleaning my apartment, and keeping it clean, so that when I look at it my mind does not mirror an unclean environment. It taught me about walking off the beaten path, about seeing where the crowd is headed and then heading in a completely different direction just to see what lies there. It taught me about the false lessons of morality that are baked in to every Indian kid, and how weak those lessons are when held up to the light of reality.

However, I think that the most important thing that it taught me was that, I can exist by myself. I can stand on my own feet and do things on my own even when taken out of my comfort zone in a foreign country about which I know next to nothing save for what their pop culture has imparted.

When I was about to set out for Japan, I started telling all of my friends and really anyone who would listen that I was going to rely on this trip to give me some answers about what to do with my life. The answers came but they were not nearly as simple or easy to interpret as I had been hoping. The answer I think, cliché alert!, is that we can never be afraid to throw ourselves right out of our comfort zones. Comfort zones, in my opinion, are horrible things. They are like artificial wombs we create so that the realities of the world cannot hurt us and so that we are always protected. However, along with the protection from hurt they also insulate us from real life. The same friends. The same places. The same brands for things you buy. The same food. The same everything. Why? Because you already know the outcome. You already know that this option, this path is safe, you have been down it before, probably many many times and there is no risk of any damage or harm coming to you. What you don't immediately understand is that there is also no chance of you ever discovering something new.

Pain is bad. It hurts, obviously, and we don't like it. However, the feeling you get when you have taken a chance, kicked yourself out of that shell, and are literally standing on an unexplored path looking out over a rain washed mountain lake with a fading red torii in the distance, is truly indescribable and reminds you that you are indeed alive.

That's the thing about cliches. The moment you hear it from someone your mind disregards it precisely due to that tag and also due to the inherent oversimplification. Living through an experience and reaffirming that cliche though convinces you of its veracity.

Does this mean that I am going to start taking more chances in life and more frequently shatter my comfort zone? I think so. I am definitely going to try harder than I ever have before. Now that I have drawn free breath, it is difficult to return to the womb.

What does all of this mean though? Am I a fool for staying on in the US? Chasing the same, stale, played out dreams as all the others? Should I be slapping myself awake right now and spring to action the moment I land back in the US so that I can break out of the cage soon? I am 28 years of age and if I am going to try and break out, there is no time like the present. 

The fear though! The fear of throwing it all away. The good salary, the reputed job, the guarantee of a comfortable life. But then again, there it is, the word, comfortable. Why the need for comfort if you are not uncomfortable to begin with? What if your life was not spectacular but also not dismal? Why would you need comfort then? Would you not then be able to wander the world picking up story after story to weave together at your ease?

Many questions and I have only just started asking the truly important ones I think.

Must I return?

Yes, I must. Vacations are simply that. They are brief windows through which you get to see what life would be like in a different set of conditions and more often than not it is a very rosy picture. It becomes quite easy to make impulsive decisions right off the momentum of a vacation. I need to return, more closely inspect my cage and try to find the door and then the key. Throwing myself against the bars right now will avail me nought.

I return.

Magus.

Of people and places.

Hurray for cliched titles!! This one is relevant though.

Today was a good day. One of those days which on recollection always puts a smile on your face. I had decided to go to Kifune shrine today and so had turned in early the previous night. It was in vain, I woke up at 8:45 and I felt horrible since I was fairly certain that any kind of start I got at that point would be quite a bit late. I decided to forge ahead though, because why the hell not right? If I had been in Tokyo I would probably have called the days plans off and have gone to Akihabara ( a small cheer goes off in my head every time I say the name of that wondrous place ) but since I was in Kyoto I had no such luck.

I decided to go to a temple town neighboring Kifune called Kurama and then there was a hiking trail connecting Kurama temple to Kifune shrine over a mountain which I intended to traverse. Kurama though not too far from Kyoto was interesting to get to. It involved three trains operated by three different rail companies JR., Keihan and Eizan with trip durations 2 minutes, 20 minutes and 30 minutes respectively.

While I was waiting for my first train on the JR Nara line, I saw this western gentleman standing nearby waiting for presumably the same train. I nodded and so did he. Once I disembarked at Tofukuji and stood waiting on the platform for the Keihan train to Demachi yanagi I saw him there as well. I nodded again and this time said hello. He was named Fabio and he was from Iceland, Reyjavik obviously. Though he was living in Iceland presently, he had lived and worked in Osaka for ten years or so. He was proficient in Japanese and absolutely in love with the country and its people, and he was also extremely well travelled. We spoke about Japan, my journey here, my hopes to work and live here someday and a variety of other topics as well. He was extremely well travelled in Japan and had gone to a whole lot of remote places and he gave me recommendations for places to go on my next trip here. While I was going to Kurama, he was going to Kifune and so I told him that perhaps we would meet halfway on the hike. We parted ways at Kifuneguchi where he hopped off the train. The last phrase we threw at each other was " see you on the other side " and this while perhaps not spot on relevant still felt extremely good to say.

I reached Kurama and it was this sleepy little village in the mountains, absolutely gorgeous. I headed for the temple and within moments, despite the low temperature I was running hot. The colors in the area were fantastic, autumn had arrived in all its glory and had painted the forest well. My dslr came out from my bag where it had been torturing my poor back and went to work attempting to capture the magnificence all around.

At a certain point I saw this temple entrance where there was a small fountain which is customary in front of Japanese temples and shrines. One is supposed to wash his hands with the water before entering the temple or shrine. Water spouts in shapes of dragons are quite common in my experience so far but this one looked great and so I decided to take a picture. This girl standing next to me had apparently embarked on the same quest. So we stood there for a full minute gesturing to the other " after you ", " no, after you ". I let her win and moved to the other side of the fountain to get a good shot. Then she came up to me and asked if I could take a picture of her against the autumn colors. I obliged and a few pictures later I was headed onwards and upwards, quite literally up a flight of stairs. She caught up again and asked if I wanted a picture, I said sure and handed my camera over.

She took about ten picture or so, trying to get it just right. Turns out, she was studying photography and knew my camera better than most people trained to sell the damn thing. She tweaked a few settings here, turned a few dials there, adjusted the steam output and suddenly my boring old , drab landscape capture setting was painting photos inspired. I said thanks and headed on. Her name was Lai. Chinese originally I believe but probably had been living in Japan for a very very long time.

Now comes my favorite part. I kept climbing up and at a certain point I ran out of breath and decided to wait on the side of the trail. An old couple walking up saw me breathing deeply and brandishing my walking stick and the lady said " konichiwa " to which I responded in kind. The old man, her husband had one of the kindest faces I have seen on anyone. I saw him struggling up the steps and so I immediately offered him my walking stick, which he refused with many a smile, gesture and nod. The wife also refused with many a smile, nod and gesture. I bowed slightly and made to head on when she asked " which country ". I replied "America, well....India ( made gesture to my own face for some reason ) but now America".

We rounded a bend in the trail and there was Fabio coming up the mountainside. We shook hands, exchanged pleasantries, complained about the weather and the crowd and nodding to each other with broad smiles we went our own ways. Him to wherever his wanderlust led him, and me to rejoin my old couple who were getting worried about me.

When we got to the next point of interest the old man mimed using a sword and together they told me that this shrine was supposedly a place where a famous samurai had trained his skills under the tutelage of a god like being, a tengu. The old man got quite animated and mimed running drills and waving the katana about. It was quite adorable and incredibly nice. We moved on.

What followed was a conversation about temples, shrines, India, Amazon, me wanting to work in Japan, my limited knowledge of Japanese which was still enough to surprise them, Seattle, their son in law who was Korean and had difficulty with Japanese as well and so many other topics. The man was a priest who had his own temple in Kobe. All of this, we talked about with broken Japanese and limited English and we did fine. I have been around Malayalam speakers, English speakers and even Hindi speakers with whom I have found less to talk about than with this dear old man and his dear old wife. Communication is really not about the language at all, it is about the will to want to share a moment of life with another person. Today convinced me of this.

We descended to Kifune and they showed me how to pray at a shrine and the proper steps in washing ones hands at the shrine fountain. The old lady even gave me her handkerchief to dry my hands after I had washed them in the fountain. I finally bid my goodbyes to them and bowed quite deeply. If my command of the language had been better I would have thanked them for the wonderful conversation and the journey over the mountain but hopefully my smile and sincere bow conveyed at least part of that intent.

Thinking about all of this even hours after it happened still brings a smile to my face.

I was once again by myself. Where to go now? Autumn lights, that sounded interesting. In autumn it turned out that they lit little lanterns all over Kifune, lit the fall colors up on the trees using lights and also pointed many a light at the water running alongside the Main Street in town. This would only commence at 5 though and it was only 3. I had time to burn.

I walked along the road towards the inner shrine of Kifune. Legend had it that this was where the goddess had landed with her boat thereby founding the Kifune jinja. On the way I saw steps leading down towards the water. I climbed down, stepped over some rocks and after finding a comfortable stone parked my bottom there for a full 45 minutes. 

All I did in this time was to look at the water, listen to its sound and to breathe in and obviously out again. It was beautiful. I saw light fixtures near the water and knew that this was probably part of the lighting up later.

I went on towards the inner shrine and I prayed the way the old couple had taught me and followed it up with a normal prayer of my own. I did feel a bit conscious doing this since, well, I am an Indian dude in a Japanese Shinto shrine praying like the Japanese do but then again who the hell says I can't.

Walked around a bit more but found that there was not much more to see there. Stepped into a coffee shop and had a cup to recharge and regroup and also since it was getting quite cold outside. I stepped out after the coffee and some of the lanterns had come alive and thus began my weird back and forth and back again journey across the length of Kifune town. Each time I completed a circuit the sky became darker and the lanterns light became stronger in that oldest of struggles. The water threw shadows on to the lit walls and the trees swayed slightly each movement exaggerated by the lights being cast on them. Then came the rain and suddenly it was just me, the road and the lanterns. Everyone ran to find shelter, I summoned my umbrella and the walk continued. This was life. This was what everything had been for. This had happened before and had been forgotten. This used to be me. This is me once more. I walk in the rain.

At a certain point along the road to Kifuneguchi station I saw a man waving directional batons about guiding busses into a docking area. As I walked by he declared them to be busses to take people to the very station to which I was headed. I asked him how far it was by walk and he said 20 minutes. I scoffed, struck a pose and when that failed I told him at I was going to try and walk it. There were no more lanterns lining the road past that point. I had not gone more than a few steps when he came running up to me saying " be careful, be careful ". Using gestures he communicated the lack of light, space on the road and the rainy conditions. I agreed with his read on the situation and so what did I do? Did I like a sane person take the bus and go to the station? Nope, I decided to walk all the way back to the inner shrine and see what the lanterns looked like. This was my fourth time walking back up this road by the way.

It was worth it. True night had fallen. Somber silence reigned and the whole scene looked sacred. Step after slow step in the cold I walked up and down Kifune trying to absorb with my eyes everything that was spread out in front of me. No picture can do this justice, no fanciful words can come even close, if you have not drawn breath after timid breath in that holiest of silences, that most sacred of evenings, you know not what it was like.

I walked back to the bus stop and after exchanging a few more sentence with the man, one of which was a compliment on his really good English, I hopped on to a bus back to the station and three trains later I was back in Kyoto.

So there you have it, of people and places. I know not if I will ever meet Fabio or the old couple again, I do however know that my life is richer for having crossed paths with them.

Magus.

Kyoto, I remain cautiously optimistic.

Kyoto, I remain cautiously optimistic.

I am going to attempt to talk about three things in this post:

1. The ride to Kyoto on the Shinkansen 

2. My first night in the Kyoto hotel 

3. My first few sights in Kyoto

The ride to Kyoto on the Shinkansen:

Every time I hear the word Shinkansen I instantly get reminded of some kind of shounen anime inspired sword or attack. "Baakana! kono jutsu no namae wa Shinkansen... Ovarida..". I looked the name up on the foremost authority on the Japanese language, Wikipedia and found out much to my disappointment that it literally translated into wide gauge rail or something to that technical effect referring to the type of track on which the Shinkansen runs. I hopped on the train from my beloved home away from home, my safe harbor, Oh dearest Shinjuku. Heading for Shinagawa on the yamanote line which I had only once ridden on before. The train was as crowded as I have seen, apparently everybody living in Shinjuku had decided to hop on to bid me a bientot ( mata ne ).

While on the train I kept seeing an advisory message on the monitors alerting people to a delay on the Tokkaido Shinkansen line. The cause was mentioned to be a blackout. I thought to myself "So glad that I am not one of the poor sods traveling on that train. No sir, I am going to Kyoto, on the Kyoto Shinkansen, YEAH!" and concluded the thought with a little hop in the air and self high five or perhaps that was just in my head.

Shinagawa was huge and that's just the station, I wonder how humongous the ward itself is. I walked around totally lost for a bit and then finally located the track for the Shinkansen to Kyoto which I discovered 15 minutes before riding on it was called the Tokkaido Shinkansen. The name sounded familiar, almost as if I had come across it before and then it hit me. I was one of the poor sods riding on the Tokkaido line.

I got on my platform and was waiting for my train to pull in when I had one of those brief moments of perfect satisfaction when I read the display boards for the train names and managed to read them as written in Japanese. It completely helped that the names were written in the hiragana which is the only Japanese alphabet that I know but it was a victory none the less. I remembered seeing a model of the Japanese bullet train from when I was a kid, I think I had a toy version which I used to play with but my memories of that time are weak and flee as soon as I call out to them. The Shinkansen pulled in, as majestic as a train can possibly manage to look. At some point of time when I am better versed in Japanese I will petition JR to rename the Shinkansen to something like Byakurai ( which my friend Tite Kubo tells me means white lightning ) because that is precisely what it looks like, predominantly white in color, sleek as an arrow and fast as lightning if not faster ( shut up physics!!! ). I got on the train and settled down as it pulled out of the station. It was immediately obvious how these trains could cover the massive distances they covered in the time that they did. The train was whistling within mere seconds of starting and it was all so smooth. Half an hour later found me nursing a whiskey ( no, it was only coffee. faithful followers of yours truly will remember the video bearing witness to this fact ) staring out of the window as the Japanese countryside blurred by. Delightful train journey, I only wish that the destination had welcomed me a bit better than it actually did.

2. My first night in the Kyoto hotel

As disappointments go this was a big one. I, like my father, have always loved good hotels. The ones that make you feel classy, almost like royalty ( which we technically are ). The rooms that seem prepped for your occupancy, ready and waiting for you to arrive. I knew that things were headed downhill as soon as I saw the outside of the building. It reminded me of one of those hotels in India which stick the word international or residency on to their names and instantly expect their quality to go shooting through the roof by some unknown turn of fate. My hotel was a similar offender, it had the word villa stuck on to its name. None of this would have mattered if not for a mistake I had made early on while reserving this room online. I accidentally reserved a smoking room. Finding hotels in Kyoto had been exceptionally difficult and so when I had seen this one open I had just jumped and locked it in without reading the fine print. The room reeked of stale smoke and believe you me, it was bad. I usually don't have a problem hanging out with smokers, even though I don't enjoy it, I can handle most normal levels of smoke emission. This room though had stale, old, dead smoke infused into the very walls from the smell of it. Opening the window, spraying an entire bottle of room freshener, praying to the gods, did nothing to alleviate the horrid smell. I went right back down to the lobby and talked to them about the problem at which point they told me that I would have to stay in the room for the night and that they would move me today. This experience of the horrid ghost smoke room sort of ruined Kyoto's first impression in my mind. Went out for a walk and everywhere I looked I found problems, narrow streets, not enough lights, too many boisterous people ( I had just been in Shinjuku and note how I am complaining about crowd density and boisterousness of folk ). I had heard that the JR Kyoto station was a modern marvel of construction and so on, with an underground mall in it and so I went to have a look. The only shops it had were boutiques of international fashion brands, most of which I had seen to sickness in the US. The non shop establishments were restaurants and that too mostly French, Italian, Vietnamese and even an Indian one. Almost every restaurant had a line outside it with people clutching shopping bags and dressed in their Saturday finest. I felt like a complete alien here, the situation not being helped by the fact that I had not had the chance to take a shower due to aforementioned nightmare room. After the amazing experiences I had in Shinjuku and Tokyo in general this was a horrible let down.

 Came back to the hotel with some food and coke and consumed it in my smoky cave. Post dinner, I drowned my sorrows in a few episodes of Gintama and then turned in for the night. 

3. My first few sights in Kyoto:

My first thought on regaining consciousness today was "hurray, I'm still alive!". I lay there for a bit activating various sub systems and checking their status reports on general system health. It appeared that the smoke had not managed to bypass my defenses. The hotel had told me that I could move into my new room at 1:00 pm and so I needed to burn time until that point. I checked out of smokey joe turned my key card and clothes bag in to reception and headed to a Starbucks to make a plan. I decided to check one of the nearby temples out and headed for it.

This is where things sort of started to turn around a bit which is why I am cautiously optimistic and not completely condemning this place ( as concerns my trip of course, not in general ). The temple was beautiful. Gigantic wooden halls, maintained so well, the wooden floors polished to shine, tatami mats stretching on as far as the hall ran. Walking on tatami mats is awesome by the way. On a pamphlet I picked up from the temple entrance I found that the temple had been built by the jodo-shin sect also known as the true pure land sect, one of the schools of contemporary Japanese Buddhism. There were also some lines written about believing in a true pure land into which followers are reborn as Buddhas and then immediately return to the world as we know it, in order to help others find enlightenment. Not sure about the whole true pure land idea since it sounds a little too much like the western concept of heaven which is a little too placebo like for my taste, but the parts about living open and free in this life knowing that there was a next appealed to me. It sounded free somehow. After seeing the temple and the founders hall and the amida hall I sat down on a stone step facing a small garden with a few trees. Looked at the sun. Looked at the aoi sora. Things started feeling a bit better. It was 1 pm and I headed back to the hotel full steam to see what fresh hell they were going to put me in to.

The new room was decent. It definitely had no smoke smell. Obviously the overall standard of the hotel was still the same and nothing to write home about, but just to have that infernal smell gone was relief enough.

After putting my heavy bags in the room I picked up my camera and headed out again. The temple I had gone to earlier had been called the nishi honganji and now I wanted to go to the higashi honganji it's sister temple. Higashi apparently also had a garden nearby that was supposed to be beautiful. By this point my spirits had recovered and I was once again in sightseeing mode. Pictures were taken a plenty and many a tatami mat was stepped on. Higashi honganji was as impressive as Nishi, perhaps a bit less but close. I decided to head for the garden. 

One of the things I have come to deeply appreciate about the Japanese is their skill at separating nature and otherwise. The minute I stepped into the garden, the city around me fell away. It was as if I was walking in a remote mountain side garden. Beautiful moss gardens, koi ponds, ancient tea houses preserved for display and a bamboo grove that looked as fresh as tomorrow feels. I did two slow circuits of the garden and sat in a couple of places for intervals.

The time was around 4 and the park was closing. The sun had started making her descent and the park was starting to embrace the evening. I sat on a stone looking at the water. Ripples, everywhere. The little insects on the surface of the water, propelling themselves with great speed, each time creating a ripple. Then, suddenly, almost stillness but not quite. Almost as if every being had decided to hold breath, the water became tranquil and in the reflection I saw the trees, the sky, the old buildings and other people both past and present but always moving. The trees stood still, they did not want to mar the reflection in the water. The sky liked the idea the trees had and agreed to stay still. The buildings around, had seen ages pass and their will or need to move had long since grown to be replaced by something beyond my conception. Within the water I saw the reflection. Only for a moment, a brief flash of stillness and then gone as quickly as it had come. The wind my old friend sang through the trees once more, the skies began to dance again and the ripples on the water bloomed forth, the reflection shattered, my window into that beautiful world of but a moment was closed. My breath escaped me.

After that I returned to the hotel, took a shower, had a coffee and now am sitting in Starbucks once again writing this. Tomorrow I head for Kifune jinja in the mountains.

Let's see what tomorrow brings.

On a signing off note, if I do ever get the chance to live and work in Japan I am going to live and work in Tokyo. I love the city and it's energy. It reminds me of the best times I had in Dubai both alone and with my younger brother, simpler and more optimistic times where you could not help but grin at the possibilities held by the next moment.

Until we speak again,

Magus

Of Ueno, shrines and curry

Of Ueno, shrines and curry

Before we get started let me warn you, the title is rather poorly worded. While those three things feature in the tale they are by no means linked to each other except for perhaps geographic proximity.

I intend to go to Nikko tomorrow, I had gone to Hakone yesterday and so I was quite tired by the time I went to bed yesterday and also want to be quite fresh for the journey to Nikko tomorrow. Considering this I decided to keep my travels to within Tokyo for the day. The very first thought that popped into my mind was "Akiba!!!" after which I managed to regain some measure of restraint and decided to go to Ueno instead.

Ueno to Tokyo is what Central Park is to the large apple. Except for the fact that Tokyo has many parks spread out in the various wards and each one is rather large. If put together I would not be surprised if they surpassed Central Park in area. However, by itself, Ueno park is much much smaller. What it lacks in terms of area it makes up for by means of charm but we'll get to that.

I wanted to avoid rush hour on the trains so I decided to leave the hotel around 10. This gave me the chance to catch up on some matters ( bug people on IM ), to follow up on correspondence ( bug people on IM, graciously receive threats of bodily harm from said people ) and to tie up some other loose ends ( commence swearing match and promises of sweet sweet violence once yours truly returns stateside ). Once ten rolled around, I popped out of the hotel and half an hour later found myself in Akiba.

The other day when I had gone to Akiba, I had to come back at noon since my bag was too darn heavy to walk around with all day and it was giving me a horrid backache. Once I reached the hotel in the afternoon tough it was rather difficult to leave again considering the lunch I practically inhaled. At a certain point of my post lunch delirium indignation kicked in, the thought that I had finally made it to Japan and that in the middle of a perfectly good day I was cooped up in my hotel. This indignation made me get right back up and go to Akiba again. At a certain later point of the day though Akiba gets crowded as all hell and it becomes very difficult to do anything especially relating to manga stores since the aisles are so damn narrow to start off with. I exited a gigantic store named mandarake, I wonder if the owners were planning to go for Mandrake when they named it, no clue, sentence over.

Once outside the indignation kicked back in and I was wondering what to do. The only option that presented itself was to return to Shinjuku and the hotel. I was on this massive street called Chuo dori which is the main through fare in Akiba and so I decided to see how far Chuo dori went. I walked and walked and walked. It was quite interesting, night had fallen and the legions of light that decorate Tokyo sprang to life. I saw many cute restaurants and eateries, and a certain coco curry one caught my eye. I saw the ordinary people of Tokyo go about their lives, after a busy day at work, the relieved expressions on entering what seemed like bars or pubs, the inebriated glow on exiting the aforementioned establishments, extremely old men and women buying groceries while throwing glances at the nearby youth who had their beaks immersed in some manga or the other. Two guys who approached me for massages from Japanese girls, which I turned down because I'm allergic to massages. I kept walking and finally I started seeing signs for Ueno and the the park. Since it was late at night I figured that the same rules applied for Ueno as applied to any other park in the world, don't enter if you value life and limb ( also applies to certain women, eeeyohh!! Sorry, that was bad )

I remembered this and turned back to Akiba and to return to my hotel. By this point my indignation was being given the finger by my aching feet, or perhaps I should say the toe.

Back to the present, I got down at Akiba and made straight for Ueno.

The first thing I did once at the park went quite well with the lessons I had learned yesterday and I roamed for a bit with no plan in mind. However at a certain point I saw the Tokyo national museum and curiosity got the better of me and a ticket was purchased and I went in. Initially I was reading every single panel, paying attention to everything that came before my eyes. The highlight was a room detailing Japanese swords and their history. However,  soon my interest waned and it waned hard. I was skimming through exhibit after exhibit and soon I popped out of the museum with quite a bit of regret as to having entered in the first place. I also figured out at I was feeling quite hungry by this point and so I made for the coco curry place I had seen earlier. This was my first solo experience at a Japanese eatery and boy oh boy did I love it.

The fried chicken with veggies and rice and curry was delicious and everyone in the place who had ordered curry was eating it with a spoon. They were also making clinking noises with the spoon on the plate. No longer did I have to be mortified of the cutlery making sounds on the plates, It was accepted, encouraged even. Anyway, I sat there and ate quite an enjoyable meal after which I returned right back to Ueno.

By this point my newly learned lessons from yesterday had returned full force and I well and truly started roaming with no goal in sight. I saw the real last samurai, Saigo takamuri's statue. I saw the tomb of the group of soldiers who resisted the Meiji emperor to the end and were slaughtered except for a few survivors. I saw a Sakura tree by a well about which a little girl had written a haiku and it came to be called after her, Sukushi's cherry tree. I kept walking. Saw a crowded shrine, turned and went in the opposite direction, found the compound wall which I proceeded to inspect for a few minutes before turning in another direction. Onwards!

A shrine! Red torii! Memories of yesterday. I walked through it and saw torii after torii leading to a little shrine, completely deserted. Yes! I walked down the steps through the torii and came up to the shrine. It appeared to be a shrine dedicated to dogs. I made a quick little prayer for health and wellbeing and then saw another shrine attached to this one. As I was making my way there I saw another person who was deeply engrossed in photographing himself very very near a dog statue in various poses. I let him be and kept walking. Those of us who can take the time to capture such photographs to perfection obviously have a much much more advanced understanding of the universe than I do and so I shan't take their time.

The other shrine was once again related to dogs. Once again I prayed. At that point people came streaming down the once tranquil steps. In a way that only tourists can be, these folks were obnoxious. They opened a lamp stand and started mucking about with the lamp wicks inside and then posing for photographs. My mind immediately fled to memories of our own temples from back home where if some person tried to muck about with temple fixtures they would be talked to rather harshly and if that didn't

work we would call in reinforcements to beat them up. Temples and shrines, whether you believe in them or not are believed in by people other than yourself and so you should show the same amount of respect that they do or would. I moved away, climbing back up the steps with an old Japanese lady, both of us shaking our heads disapprovingly at the gaijin.

There had been a building I'd been ignoring right from the start since on some map somewhere I had read that it was exit only and the park could not be re-entered from there. I now found myself face to face with this building and headed right for it. It was past a bridge over swampy water full of large black fish and ducks. The lake or swamp was overgrown with plants and was obviously in need of care unless that was the look they were going for. Once again I walked around the building, looked at the shrines and then as I've been recently doing I just started walking in a certain direction with no real logic dictating anything. I saw a lake with boats on it, girl girl boats being pedaled harmoniously, guy girl boats which were mostly turning in place and guy guy boats which seemed to have the clear advantage in terms of speed even though there appeared to be conflict over who was the captain and who was the engineer.

I saw benches by the lake. I sat on these benches and looked at the lake. A melancholy mood swept over me and I could not quite place it. Eventually I think I came to a basic understanding. Soon I would need to leave this place,leave Japan and I don't want to do that even though I have to. The future is so uncertain, working and staying in the states, wanting to see and live in more places before deciding where to spend my days and so on. Amidst all this noise how can one sit on a bench and simply stare at a lake. I didn't find it easy but eventually my thoughts quieted down and I became calm. I went from side to side of the lake sitting on benches sometimes for a few minutes, sometimes for more. The lamps by the sides of the path came alive casting shadows onto the road. Two old women sitting on a bench, throwing crumbs into the water and then squeaking in surprise as a duck leapt up on to the bank wanting to investigate the source of the mysterious crumbs no doubt. An old man, arms outstretched bird seed in them and with at least a hundred birds on him, song bursting forth and enveloping all, blissful expression on his face. A mother with two children, one she carried while the other was having the time of her life stomping through wet gravel making as much sound as possible and grinning widely.

I got back to the park and watched a street performer juggle for a good half hour or so.

At the end of his routine he spoke a lot of words in Japanese no doubt asking for money for some cause. I knew this and yet I did not pay. Not because I'm cheap. No, if anything I spend too much. I did not pay because I wished I could understand what he was saying after he was done, I wish I could have known. I will learn this language, I will return and I hope I will see him again so that this time around I can understand his words and pay him for entertaining us all that evening many moons ago.

I left the park and started the walk back to Akiba.

Popped into a 7-11 store and tested out my debit card, and was extremely relieved when I realized that it worked and I got money.

Saw a tully's coffee and that is where I sit right now, typing this out.

Yet another good day.

Tomorrow has it's work cut out.

Magus.

To finally stand in Hakone

To finally stand in Hakone

More than a year ago for some reason I found myself on Google plus. That 
strangest of web sites to which people never seem to go as a result of a 
conscious decision. Then for some reason I started looking for pages 
related to Japan. Within moments I had found a page of a French 
photographer who appeared to have travelled extensively in Japan. The photo 
of his that I saw was one of this place in Japan called Hakone. It was only 
one photo, but one photo was all it took. I was hooked.

That, of course, was not the beginning of my desire to go to Japan. I had 
always been fascinated by this country which seemed to be the source of so 
many things I adored. That photo only added a lot of fuel to the fire.

Today, I stood in Hakone. It was raining lightly. There was a chill wind 
blowing and the treetops were wreathed in tendrils of mist. It could not 
have been more perfect had I orchestrated it all. Today was a very 
significant day for me in more ways than one but I shall get to that after 
talking about the things I saw and did.

The journey to Hakone took about two and a half hours one way and involved 
two trains and a bus. I didn't have much difficulty with finding the trains 
and the buses since by this point I'm fairly used to navigating the 
Japanese rail system, at least when I start from Shinjuku. Put me anywhere 
else and I'll probably be more lost than the show ( get it? Because lost 
was actually a tv show....).

Once I stepped off the bus at Motohakone I was almost immediately lost. 
There was an office which looked exactly like a tourist information bureau 
which proudly proclaimed "this is not a tourist information bureau". There 
were a few shops and restaurants. There was a pier from which a pirate ship 
carrying tourists was casting off. Then there was the bus which I had 
arrived on, now leaving me and taking with it my link to civilization.

Hoisting my backpack, completely unnecessarily since it was already on my 
back, I set off in a direction. 2 minutes later, I returned and headed in 
the exact opposite direction now having ascertained the fallacy of the 
original choice. I walked towards the lake Ashinoko and stood there in 
reverence for fifteen minutes at least. Rain in the air, the wind in the 
distance and mountains all around me ringing the steel gray waters of the 
lake. Eventually I tore my eyes away from the overall picture and started 
scanning the vista at which point I saw it. I saw it and immediately my 
mind became quiet. Rising in the distance, feet sunk into the water, red as 
the sun after which this land is named. The Torii stood beckoning. I had 
seen the torii of the Hakone shrine in pictures before and so I immediately 
recognized it and once I regained motor control I started heading off in 
that direction. My progress was not spectacular here since I was stopping 
ever few minutes to take pictures and to randomly smile at passers by who 
would obviously have had no idea of the reasons for my happiness.

Eventually I reached a path that forked away from the main road and that 
was the point at which I got my second jolt of the day and oh what a jolt 
it was. I was immediately taken back a year or perhaps more to when I saw 
that picture on Google plus because in front of me was the same picture. A 
path, flanked by red lanterns on either side leading into the forest. This 
was the picture, this was the dream. Why? I have not the faintest idea. Why 
should a simple picture evoke such responses in any sane person? I know 
not. I simply know that in that moment, I was happy. It was not even a huge 
kind of happiness, it was simple and unassuming. The kind of happiness you 
get from waving at a child on the train and the child giving you a gigantic 
grin in return accompanied by what it's tiny brain tells it is the way to 
execute a wave. Breathing slow and steady I headed down to the lake and the 
torii now stood right in front of me. I have taken ample pictures of almost 
everything I wrote/will write about here, but this is for words and words 
alone. If I cannot impart to you the feelings I experienced today without 
pictures, then perhaps those feelings are mine and mine alone and are not 
meant to be shared.

I finally left the lake torii and headed up the steps to the Hakone shrine. 
Beautiful, old construction and a feeling of sanctity not diminished 
whatsoever by people texting, tweeting and so on in the vicinity. Then the 
rain began in ernest. I reached for my umbrella only to find it gone. I had 
either dropped it somewhere along the way or someone had taken it from me. 
This was bad because until that point I had been fearless in the face of 
the rain, she was my friend there to greet me and to welcome me finally to 
this place I had only dreamed about. Now the rain was pouring down and 
without an umbrella and the low temperature, I was sure to fall sick.

The thoughts ran through my head, return back to the hotel, go to Akihabara 
again, go to Ueno as planned and so on. I waited for a bit and then finally 
started walking down the stairs of the shrine, not sure what to do. For the 
next ten minutes or so I walked from shelter to shelter waiting for a bit, 
searching to see if in addition to serving hot ramen the restaurant also 
sold umbrellas. Finally, I decided to head back towards the Motohakone town 
center and as luck would have it the first store I walk across has 
umbrellas. The shopkeeper was also kind enough to give me a map and she 
pointed out how to get to Hakonemachi a town on the other side of lake 
Ashinoko. 

Umbrella in hand I set forth and a block later dipped into a coffee shop. I 
was cold by this point and getting rained on did not help things one bit. 
An exceptionally friendly waitress took my order ( kohi arimasu ka? ) and 
then I sat down and gathered myself with aid from the amazing cup of coffee 
she made for me.

After this beautiful little break, spirits soaring I headed to Hakonemachi. 
This is where things get really interesting.

As I was walking along I see a bridge leading from the road to what seemed 
to be a buildings roof with an amazing view of the lake. Without thinking 
twice I veered off the road and onto the roof of this building. I drew my 
camera and many a shot was captured.

That by itself is nothing special, the following bit is.

I saw a path leading down from the road and I just took it. Soon, I saw a 
board that said Oen Hakone park. I walked across this low bridge, almost 
level with the water. I had taken a few photos with the camera and hoisted 
my backpack ( again needlessly ) when I realized that I was completely 
alone there. Now, with the number of people in Japan and the popularity of 
Hakone as a tourist spot you have to understand that this is a very very 
rare thing to happen. I forged ahead. All signs pointed to the park being 
closed. I thought about turning back as all the familiar demons came out to 
play. The ones cautioning me against putting one foot out of line, doing 
anything that did not conform with some invisible script that appeared to 
govern my life and existence and so on.

For once, I ignored them.

Steps lay in front of me, 200 or so. Slick with the rain, green with moss 
they were rather treacherous. I climbed them. Furiously at first, 
exhilarated that I was doing something like this, something so adventurous 
and impulsive. Then I got tired and so slowed down a bit.

I kept going and going and then reached an open area at the top with 
stunning views of Ashinoko. I was alone there for a good quarter hour and 
then I saw someone lounging about. An old man. I was quite impressed by his 
feat of climbing the staircase when I saw a couple with a small child at 
which point I deduced that something was off. This is when I saw the 
observation building and parking lot attached to it.

This however took nothing away from what I had done. I was still 
ridiculously happy.

Every time an opportunity presented itself to go back to the road, or to go 
back to the main route I searched for another path and took it. The more 
farther away it lead from the actual route the better. I walked through 
areas that were kissed by the lake and five steps would have had me out in 
the cold waters of Ashinoko. I walked through flower gardens devoid of 
flowers. I walked to and rested at lonely observation decks where it was 
just me and the wind. I walked and walked.

Eventually I reached Hakonemachi and after seeing a few sights there and 
once again having some delightful coffee and toast ( tosuto arimasu ka? ) 
at a restaurant I started the journey back to Shinjuku.

I feel like I will take away a piece of Hakone with me.

Not the over popularized, touristy, gaudy version shown by the websites and 
travel guides but a piece of the Hakone that I created in my head the 
moment I saw that photo.

While many of you will be rolling your eyes at me saying the following 
lines I will stand by them.

Hakone gave me a gift too, it gave me freedom. For a while, for a very 
brief while I was free, doing as I pleased. No thoughts of the past, no 
thoughts of the future, just the present. When friends had asked me what I 
intended to do in Japan I always had one answer for them " I just want to 
be you know? I just want to go to Japan and breathe and just exist.". 
Today, in Hakone, I just was, I simply existed.

My journey in Japan has barely begun but I feel like I have already got so 
much from these first few days. I want to learn their language and make it 
mine as well. I want to be able to read the works written by the Japanese 
masters and to pen my own simplistic notions and thoughts in beautiful, 
majestic kanji. I want to be able to breathe again in Hakone. My resolve 
has been strengthened a thousandfold by what I lived through today. Yet 
another parting gift from Hakone.


-Magus

To discard a sock

This post speaks of my adventures whilst packing to move to Seattle. One dominant feature of my moves before has been the crap I carry with me from place to place. Now, believe you me, simply saying 'crap' in the previous sentence took a lot of will power. Why? We shall get to that now.

Attachment. I am horribly attached to all those little knick knacks from back home. I brought a boatload of socks, underwear, shirts, pants, zoo animals, cooking stuff, masalas and other paraphernalia with me when I came to the US in 2008. You would not believe how hard it has been to get rid of any of these things except for the zoo animals of course ( ha! Didn't think I was coming back to that did you? ). They sort of ran off on their own once I landed.

The masalas went first. This was mostly just because they expired and had to be thrown out to avoid digestive distress. As I cast each packet out I would read the label or the manufacturing information or some other piece of banal writing and I would be overcome by homesickness. Or perhaps in this case I should say retail homesickness.

A bunch of the clothes went next and this was thanks to bedbugs. Gainesville being a college town seems to attract a fair number of these pests and once they strike it is infernally difficult to get rid of them. I have known some of these little demons to survive a wash and dry process. Even if you squash one you end up with a nice red splotch on whatever surface the little cretin decided to claim for itself. So I bundled a lot of these infested clothes up in garbage bags and put them out in the Floridian sun. Every time I would walk back in to the flat from classes or something I would see those bags sitting there; gathering dust, bugs, leaves, friends of aforementioned bugs, twigs and the occasional spider. Every glance resulted in guilt lancing into me as I remembered my mother picking those clothes out for me, packing them the night before I left and so on. Never once during those spirit quests did I remember that these clothes did not really fit me anymore (No one had told me about the miraculous cloth shrinking abilities of the dryer machine) and so I suffered. Eventually I tossed them out when I moved to NJ.

The move to NJ was good because I drove up in my Corolla and so I could only carry stuff that fit in there. A lot of clothes went out of the proverbial window and I was only carrying a semi boatload of crap which at this point consisted of expired medicines, torn socks (yes, they survived the culling), dry socks (not to be confused with the torn ones), shrunk shirts (yes, there were more), shrunk pants (though not to the extent of becoming shorts. The shrinkage alas was proportional) and a lot of masalas and cooking utensils. How did the masalas get a second wind? Well, I went to India again and guess what I brought back with me. Yes. Exactly. More masalas. This time in bigger more expensive looking packets optimized to enhance guilt like never before.

Most of the drive, Jamie and I had to estimate what the rear view mirror was showing since we could not see it completely due to the stacked guitar cases and half stack head. 'Twas a fun journey.

The real culling came when I moved from 40 Newport Parkway to 30 Newport Parkway, which are actually neighboring buildings in the same bloody compound. The bed bugs returned for round 2 (Now presenting! Saving private bug and Behind exterminator lines) and even more clothes went into the trash. This time there were images of my mom taking me to the tailors and getting these stitched out interspersed with my her rants on how much it cost and also an unabridged accounting of the trouble I was causing her. How much more could I take before I broke?

Pots and pans into the chute
Torn socks too, no they're not cute
Shirts and pants, that fit no more
Hand them over, they're out the door
Spice and powder, long gone from grace
Rather shoot your tummy in the face
They all must go, they all must go
this pathetic rhyme must end somehow

All of this led to the present. Scene opens on yours truly sitting on a bed holding a disgruntled looking sock with a truly contemplative expression. Just to clarify, the contemplative expression was on my face and not on the sock though perhaps in a parallel dimension there was a sock with...right, back to topic. This guy had made it all the way from India in 2008 to Jersey City in 2012 and it felt almost like a crime to toss him away. I did end up doing it however. Each article of clothing thrown into the trash bags causing yet another tiny wound to open up inside.

Here's the thing though, while it hurts to throw stuff away, it is also amazingly therapeutic. Ever heard about the whole "Letting go" line of thought? Well, it's true. You accumulate so much stuff through the course of your travels that it starts weighing you down both figuratively and literally. Letting go of these things is liberating and you can move on along whatever course you are holding to.

All that being said, I am still going to have to put some major fires out when my mom comes to visit. I can already hear it "Where's that blue shirt? I had to fight predator to get that tailor to safety so that he could stitch it for you. People died Nikhil! People died!" and so on.

So yeah, in memory of that sock and it's brethren.

-Magus.

To stay or to leave.

In recent weeks a big question has been doing the rounds in my head. "Should I leave Newport and move to Brooklyn?". This post shall be a discussion of most of what has transpired.

When I first sensed the presence of this question I shuddered inside and then outside (in that order). I did not want to leave this place. I had come to visit a good friend (now my room-mate) and had fallen in love with this place. Walking on the riverside is one of my favorite things to do and most of my friends have at one point of time or the other threatened to bludgeon me to death if I mention taking a stroll. I love Newport, I love the fact that I step out of the apartment and take a few paces and presto! I am on the waterfront walkway. I like that another few paces and I am at Morton Williams which despite being a burning example of the term "Daylight robbery" is still a convenient place to get basic groceries at. A little bit of a longer walk in yet another direction and one finds oneself in Hoboken which despite being called a New York wannabe by many a New York city resident is still quaint and charming.

Add to the above the fact that the commute to work is a breeze and the commute to practice with my band is a...some other form of wind..a gale..wait no...let me just call it another breeze for now.

How can this be a bad place to live in?

While I want to say, it isn't, the answer is not quite as black and white.

Most of the residents of Newport are the Bourgeoise of the current day and age. The majority of these residents work in IT (like your's truly) and they are great examples of the planned trajectories that Indian lives tend to follow. Living here and seeing these people is like seeing what my life is going to be a few years from now. I see people trying so hard to convince themselves that they are happy, not trying to simply be happy even though that might be infinitely easier preached than practiced. I see couples immersed in the "system" and if one looks closely one can see the cables that run from them into some place that the human eye cannot see but where the "system" is conceivably housed. I see kids and sometimes I ignore them completely and some other times I feel like punching their lights out. The perfect neutrality of the world overwhelms my senses and I am left in a state akin to nirvana but more Cobain than the dalai lama.

Just when I am about to erupt in a puff of cynicism I see a few couples who look like they might be alright. The dude looks not like a complete zombie and the female not like a complete harpie and they seem to be having not a completely horrid time. Perhaps due to some combination of the above three the cable though present is frayed. Perhaps that's as good as it gets.

So then I had friends and acquaintances tell me about moving to Brooklyn since apparently that's where all the cool people are. Brooklyn seems to be full of the young crowd with a fair smattering of hipsters and so on.There are places which are nice and then some which are not so nice. I for one did not find anything special with the place. I also did not understand one of the main points in their reasoning which had to do with hanging out being made easier if we moved to Brooklyn. I did not get this since even from Newport Brooklyn is only two trains away neither of which are a pain to ride. Over and above all of this, my being just did not resonate with Brooklyn.

Every time I considered moving away from Newport a weird sort of dread seemed to take hold of my heart and to be entirely honest I do not know what this is. By no means do I intend to live the rest of my life in Newport but I think that when I eventually do find "home" it will be a place that is similar to Newport in geography and location. I think my home will be a place very very close to if not on water. Perhaps I should have taken up my father's vocation and gone sailing the seven seas.

Water indicates escape. An opening. A path for you to take if the world becomes too much to bear. I don't mean chuck yourself into the drink and die, I mean to sail away. I see dark ships making their way slowly past the lights of New York, the water disturbed in their wake slap against the not so old stones of the pier in exchange place and within this ancient rhythm one can almost make out whispers of far away lands and stories of people. I see one of these ships and I remark to whoever is standing closest "I wish I could be on that". On a dark ship heading to destinations unknown.

The wind in Brooklyn is different, it speaks of different things, new things. It is a controlled wind, hurt at being regulated through so many narrow openings and gaps between buildings which struggle amongst each other for space. It strives to be free but stumbles and fades away into a few whispers that softly lap at your face as if in farewell. The wind in Newport (when it blows) is mighty. It is free and comes roaring in off the hudson and declares itself with that blatant confidence which only an ocean-born possesses. 

I stay because of the wind. I stay for the song of the water. I remain because there are many ships yet to leave the lights behind to travel the mighty seas.

Newport has it's faults, no doubt, but I love it for what it means to me. A place where I can be close to the water.

Quite a random and digressive post I admit, however I do believe that a few of the paragraphs do deserve some merit.

Until the next one and here's to hoping that no kids get clocked in the face.

Sentinel.