“Lime pickle or ginger powder for tea? Which of the two should I leave
out?”
Despite Air India’s generous baggage allowance on the Tokyo flight
Sarita had agonized over the two after dealing with winter clothing,
homeopathic medicines and Vicco Vajradanti toothpaste.
Her son was on a sponsored study course at the University of Tokyo. This
trip had come up unexpectedly. The
family was to attend his graduation nearly six months away but they had
received an official email from the Japanese government mentioning a cardio
vascular affliction. “I will need more time to get clearances for international
travel. You better go alone,” her husband had urged her. He had seen her off at
the Indira Gandhi International Airport with words of encouragement and
reassurance.
Sarita was not fooled. Her sixth sense was telling her to prepare
herself but she calmed her restless mind during the flight with a looping
recitation of the Gayatri Mantra. At the Narita airport, she scrutinized her
son keenly as he busied himself with her baggage and the cab.
“Did you bring the gift for Sensei?” were his first words as he turned
towards her in the car. She nodded briskly, her eyes drinking him in. The voice
stuck in her throat, choked at the memory of her own panic attacks back home at
the thought of him alone in a foreign land. She fought down an insane urge to
run her hands over his limbs just to make sure he was whole. “I got an inlaid
bangle box, thought your teacher would appreciate something traditional” she
was finally able to put his mind at rest.
He was pleased, “Can we have her home for a meal soon? Her conversation
classes have been a great help.” She patted his knee, swelling up with pride at
his ease in this vending machine capital of the world while he pointed out the
landmarks along the drive to his university. They were soon enough, removing
their shoes at the door to his dorm.
The sun rose sharper in Tokyo. “Mum, be careful with the garbage, all
right. Two separate canters come for the cans and the organic.” He had been
full of stories about Sensei “I will walk Sayuri Sensei to the dorm from the
Ebisu station, she is not familiar with this ward”, he had announced over the
kitchen clatter during breakfast.
Sarita saw him off to school and busied herself with organizing his mini
residence, “My poor baby does not get time to clean and cook.” And there was
the happy anticipation of meeting someone mellow who had clearly been an anchor
to her son.
Tokyo’s street lamps had come alive when the front door lock clicked open
from outside with a key. Sarita watched curiously as an elongated young
Japanese beauty undulated in, ahead of her blushing son. Several times during
the polite evening, insecurity stabbed at her as she watched Sayuri’s serene
melancholy fend off his smitten looks. He had clearly drawn great strength from
her. “Your son is a brave man. It can
get very lonely here if you do not know the language,” Sayuri smiled at the
mother, admiring the bangle box closely. “Yes, we got an official communication
about his health,” Sarita’s voice was tentative.
There was the slightest hesitation before Sensei dived into her neat
handbag to pull out a tightly folded sheet of paper. “I took him to a private
clinic here before the school got wise to his condition” she held it out for
Sarita.
Indeed, it was a medical prescription in her son’s name drawn up by one
Dr. Tsuneo Takagi, Researcher and Social Isolation Expert, Roppongi Hills
Clinic.
The words pierced her clouded vision as Sarita struggled to reconcile
cardio vascular trouble with medical notes on social pain, expatriate
loneliness, interaction therapy and depression.
A voice yawned in her head. It was her mother, “Don’t be so ambitious!
Keep your children with you as long as you can, you are sending them too far
away from home.”
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