Chachu's column #22: Chachu in Japan

It was almost like a curse in my life. The refrains were endless - 'Five years and not even one?' It was not that I did not want to. Just that one thing or the other held up the inevitable. So when I finally got the news, I knew the event could not be delayed any further, whatever be the impediments.

It all began when I reached office on a Monday morning - the mind still wandering in the weekend's festivities. Lethargically reading my emails, I came across an email from our client "Dear Sumit-san, Find attached invitation letter for your visa..." My heart skipped a beat. There was no prior information - no prelude. Just pack your bags and head for Japan - that too in 6 days time.

But one had to have a passport for going abroad. Although I had one, there was a small issue. The passport number punched on the passport was different from the one written on the front page. I was in a state of flux. Which number was the correct passport number? I didn't know. Would they allow me to use that passport? I didn't know. What to do? I didn't know. I sought help and was promptly asked to go to the Regional Passport Office (RPO), New Delhi.

The Tuesday morning saw me braving one of the most horrible traffic Jams to reach passport office. Once there, I found people screaming and shouting and hollering all around. Where to go? I didn't know. Even the Inquiry counter had a long queue. Scanning the office for some help, I found an empty counter dedicated for Haryana region. Since I resided in Haryana, I attacked the counter. I was directed to go to first floor. On the first floor, I handed my passport to the person concerned - a gentleman sitting in an AC room. The man talked to me reasonably and my complaint was noted. I was asked to collect my passport from counter number 5 in the evening between 4.30 and 5.00. I left the room but then I realized I had not got any receipt. What if they gave my passport to someone else? My maiden foreign trip, that too after five years of wait, would have died a premature death. I went to the gentleman's room again. The man allayed my fears and said that the photo on the passport would be good enough. 'Could someone else collect on my behalf?' I asked. The answer was in the negative.

The afternoon saw me at the RPO office again at 4.28pm. The office was closed and there was a big crowd outside. As soon as the clock struck 4.30pm, the gate opened and the gathered mass rushed inside. In the melee, I too dashed inside. Once there, I did not know where to go. There were three counters numbered 3to5. Which one was number 5? No one could tell. Every one standing there seemed equally confused.

While we waited and the revered RPO employees had their cup of team, the people in the queue started narrating their stories. One of the ladies was called at 12.00 noon. She came only to find the office closed. The poor lady waited for over four hours in the sun. Another person waiting for his passport was asked to fill a new application form only to find the passport delivered the very next day. There were many stories floating around. Around 5pm, the RPO gods gave their worshippers a glimpse and started doling out passports. The man had a list of letters along with the corrected passport. For every person standing in the queue the bunch of letters had to be scanned again and again. When my turn came, I said that my passport was at the end. He saw the last letter but it was not mine. I was reprimanded, "Either you see or let me do my business." I kept quiet, but thought "Oh! powerful lord, the holder of my passport, my gateway to foreign land, be gentle on a poor soul and be kind enough to give him his passport." The almighty then found my passport lying just above the last one and gave it to me. I clasped it tightly, lest it fall along with my trip.

The next few days went in filling various forms for visa, foreign exchange and insurance, and then getting the Visa. Everything went as per plan and I left India on Sunday, 29th June. The eight-and-a-half hour JAL flight saw me in Japan on Monday morning. During the course of journey, I lost three-and-a-half hours. For once, I wonder what if every country adopted the Greenwich Mean Time (GMT). Then, the trouble of changing time and having to manage multiple clocks could be obviated. As a software engineer how this could be technically managed. For the western countries, it would have meant jumping ahead in time, implying paying interest for the time that had actually not transpired. Gauging the complexity of the idea, I dropped it.

At the airport, the SARS scare had not yet subsided. I was asked to fill a SARS questionnaire and was made to pass through a device that monitored by body temperature. The SARS matter settled, a long queue greeted me at the immigration counter. About 150 people in the queue implied at least two hours of wait. But the first glimpse of the dexterity of Japanese people was displayed when the queue got cleared in no time.

We then brought tickets for a Limousine bus for our hotel, which was to leave the airport in two hours time. When about half an hour remained, I asked the lady concerned when the bus arrived and whether I could sit earlier. In the part-English, part-Japanese conversation that I had, I was informed that the bus would come and leave at 11.05am sharp. Two minutes before scheduled time the bus came. By that time, a gentleman had arranged our baggage. When the bus arrived, he put the baggage in the bus and checked our tickets. All settled, the six odd people left for Kashiwa - a suburb of Tokyo - and our destination.

The bus was air-conditioned and quite comfortable (as I later found out that all buses and cars and trains in Japan are). During the whole two-hour journey, the driver honked only once, that too when a scooterist came too close to the bus. Otherwise, the traffic was very well managed, and there was no need of any horns. The disappointing aspect of the journey was large number of traffic signals and frequent stoppages. The roads too were very narrow, generally one lane for each way. However, they were well marked - with zebra crossings - and traffic signals for the pedestrians too.

For any repair carried at a site, a signboard stating 'Men at Work' was placed 100meters before the site. A similar sign was placed 50m before. The repair site was either properly cordoned off or well-dressed police officers managed smooth flow of traffic.

The end of our journey saw us at out destined hotel - a place where some of my colleagues were already staying. However, all this happened with a minor glitch. The hotel was half a kilometer away from the bus terminal. Since I had lot of baggage, I needed a taxi. But none could be seen. After ten minutes of painful walk, when I saw a taxi stop and asked the first taxi to go, the person refused to go. The next one in the queue followed suit and the third one asked me to talk to the two taxis in front. Without any option, I walked to the hotel, sweating and panting.

The hotel room was small- about 9feet by 6feet - with a small, attached bath. The room had a TV, a fridge and a VCR (I later learnt that Japanese either used DVD or Video Cassettes, but no VCDs). When I had kept my bag and was wondering about my lunch, a colleague of mine called me and said my client was on the phone in his room. I had just landed in Japan, but the professional commitments had already began... (to be continued..)