Imari city is the first place that springs to
mind when Vishaka, an employee of the Fukuoka City Museum, is just about done
with her hectic week. She knows she needs to take a long deserved vacation, and
she instantly acts on her impromptu thought. Her bags are packed and train
tickets are booked even before her scant few days of leave are sanctioned. The
afternoon she collects her sanction (after much grumbling from her superviser),
she boards the Karatsu bound train from Fukuoka. She takes her designated seat,
and breathes a sigh of relief. The metaphorical burden upon her shoulders feels
lighter.
The previous week, her co-worker Rinko had
taken one look at the bags under her eyes, the pallor of her skin, and declared
that she needed a holiday. “Not the adventurous sort of holiday Viishaka-kun,
she had said, “you need a holiday to cleanse your mind and soul!” Vishaka could
only nod along, as she had no idea if such a place existed. Rinko then
cheerfully provided her details of such a homestay not far from the hustle of
the busy city. No wonder Vishaka’s mind kept circling around the recommended
place, a small nondescript area in Imari city called Komanaki.
Now as the train came to a stop at Karatsu,
she quickly changed trains that would take her to Komanaki. Within an hour she
would reach her destination.
Komanaki falls eerily silent after the train
leaves the station. It is a place suspended in time, with forests cropping up
discontinuously in the horizon that is slowly turning from orange to purple,
and nothing but the call of cicadas to keep her company. The homestay she has
chosen is supposed to be a two minute walk from the station. Taking her one
small rucksack on her shoulders, Vishaka sets out to begin her long awaited
holiday.
**************************************************************************
Eight months is hardly enough time to
learn a smattering of hiragana and katakana system of writing. Vishaka is thoroughly unprepared at the sight
of a sign board by a two storey house proclaiming 宮古のホームステイへようこそ! She
blinks a few times, and is about to whip out her phone for the translation app
when a lady in a dark coloured yukata walks out from a backyard. She is
carrying a laundry basket in her arms, but the moment she spots Vishaka, she
puts it down and hurries towards her. As she approaches, her features become
more prominent, as much prominence twilight luminescence would allow for. She
smiles at the tourist, spreads her hands wide and exclaims,” youkoso Ueno homusutei he!”
Vishaka
stares at the lady blankly, who by this time has perched a pair of thick black
rimmed glasses and is intently looking towards Vishaka. Her eyes widen a
fraction when she gets a good look at her face, understanding dawning on her
that the Japanese exclamation was wasted on Vishaka. She then says in accented
imperfect English, “Welcome to Ueno
Homestay!’’. Vishaka sighs in relief and bows at her waist to greet her. The relief,
however, is short lived, as the homestay owner, who introduces herself as
Toshiko Ueno, has a limited vocabulary in English. Vishaka sighs again, but
certainly not out of relief. She wonders how the next two days would go,
considering the language barrier. But Toshiko Ueno does not seem bothered. Her
smile brightens, and she welcomes Vishaka inside with a litany of “Come in,
come in! “
Her smile is ever present on her face as she
takes Vishaka to a makeshift lobby that is illuminated by pale yellow overhead
lights, and hands her a form to fill up, which is thankfully in English as
well. She tells Vishaka in broken English that she was expecting her, since a
certain Rinko Komatsu had called up earlier and informed her of a lone foreign
traveller who would turn up at Ueno Homestay. Vishaka smiles at the thoughtful
gesture of her co-worker. She quickly fills in the necessary details, and once
payment is made for her stay, Ms Ueno takes her up a flight of stairs and to
her room. Once she reaches the first floor, Vishaka realizes she is the only
lodger here. Good, she thinks. She would prefer as much quiet as possible.
“Ueno-san,” begins Vishaka, but is interrupted
with a “Call me Toshiko-san!”
Vishaka obliges, and continues, “Toshiko-san,
thank you for having me. Can you show me around this place tomorrow morning?”
She says this slowly, hoping she understands. With the ever present smile on
her face, Toshiko-san nods her assent. She pats Vishaka’s hand, and helps her
unpack and settle into her room. Then she takes her leave, patting her shoulder
twice and telling her to rest. That ever present smile and gentle touch does
something to Vishaka’s insides, and she cannot help but smile.
When she goes downstairs an hour later,
Toshiko-san is setting tea for two on the low table on the living room floor.
She looks up at Vishaka and exclaims,” Bishaka-kun! Come, I bring tea. Green
tea!” Vishaka quickly forgives her mispronounced name in the wake of her host’s
enthusiasm and joins her on the low table, quickly folding her legs underneath
her.
Toshiko-san makes up for her lack of English
skills by colourfully gesticulating while talking about her house, and all the
views it had to offer; she talks about her husband, who is in Osaka visiting
their son. Her enthusiasm is catching, and Vishaka is content to be a listener
in this one sided conversation. She gets a distinct feeling that despite her
cheerful demeanor, the woman is lonely and prefers company. Vishaka had escaped
the city to avoid people, but Toshiko-san is different. So she decides to tag
along with her for the rest of the evening, helping her in the kitchen,
refusing to take no for a answer. Toshiko-san must have never received a
foreigner tourist before, so she let Vishaka tag along wheverer she went.
Dinner is far different from any meal Vishaka had had in Japan in her eight
months. “Miso Soup and Chicken Katsu for Bishaka-kun!” exclaims Toshiko-san,
setting the two bowls in front of her on the low table. She brings her dinner
too and they settle down to eat. Vishaka waits for her to say “itadakimasu”,
the customary declaration before food consumption in Japan, and then they both
tuck in. The taste was strange , but a good kind of strange.
Vishaka has not had a homemade meal in three
years.
She goes
to sleep with a strange pang in her chest.
************************************************************************
Toshiko-san looks almost ethereal in the
morning light, bent over her kitchen sink washing vegetables. As the sun
gradually comes up, her silhouette reminds Vishaka of a similar scene from her
childhood, that of her mother preparing food in her kitchen. She blinks and the
illusion is gone. She is never quite able to hold on to her mother, not in real
life, not in memory. Toshiko-san hums softly as she works, and Vishaka is reluctant
to break the reverie.
After breakfast, the morning passes with
exploration of the Ueno’s back garden, and further venturing into the pine
forest behind the property. Toshiko-san accompanies her, but she is mostly
silent; she does not impose her presence on Vishaka, just holds her hand and
walks them down the forest path, showing her the various intricacies of the
forest ecosystem. It is one of the best mornings she has had as an adult. It is
refreshing and the elderly woman’s soothing presence is a welcome reprieve.
Vishaka has wandered almost the entirety of
the Asian continent, always restless, always seeking new things, but never
settling. It may be attributed to an absent parent, forced smiles, misplaced
care. Being the daughter of a woman who never seemed willing to be a parent
hardened something in her. People would not understand why. To this day Vishaka
fails to convey to anyone that she is alive doesn't mean she’s there. She was
never really there. Nothing but a duty bound woman, doing her duty to raise
her, but never investing in her growth and interests, who up and left the
minute Vishaka turned nineteen. It used to be a piercing sort of pain but with
time it has simmered down to a dull ache. Maybe that is why she cannot settle.
Because she is yet to find a semblance of home.
She suddenly cannot look at Toshiko-san. The
sharp pang is back in her chest. She must notice the change in demeanor, for
she stops and looks to Vishaka with a
searching gaze.
“Bishaka-kun, why sad?” she asks in concern.
Vishaka is surprised at her question. Does she really look sad? She thinks she
masks it well, but then, Toshiko Ueno is a mother. Maybe she knows these
things. She nods her head and tells her it’s nothing. Toshiko-san is not
convinced. Warm hands grasp tightly into both her hands and Vishaka’s eyes burn
with unshed tears. She looks at her like-
But I am not your daughter, she thinks in the dark recesses of
her mind, but doesn't say it aloud. She swallows, and gives her a shaky smile.
“Shall we walk?” she asks, and they continue their stroll.
**********************************************************************
Something shifts after that.
" Would you please stay another day? For
the Tanabata festival? It is a summer
festival as you know, and we write wishes on strips of paper and hang them on
bamboo decorations in the local Tanabata shrine. We make paper cranes and wish
for longevity. This year I am alone for Tanabata. You don’t have to, but I
would like it if you stayed. Please consider, Bishaka-kun."
Of course she knows what is Tanabata, the
famous Star festival of Japan. She has never participated in festivities in
Japan, what with her 50 hours a week work hours. She is strangely touched by
Toshiko-san’s request. This kind woman, with a cozy little home in the middle
of countryside Komanaki, has opened her home to lost souls like hers,
effortlessly incorporating strangers into her daily life, strangers who do not
even speak her native tongue. Vishaka looks up to Toshiko-san’s smiling,
hopeful face and says without a second thought, “Of course!”
**********************************************************************
Two days later, on the morning of the
festival, Vishaka arranges all the paper
cranes she has made into a single file, admiring her handiwork . Toshiko-san
giggles as Vishaka places a paper crown on her head, and reaches up to pat her
cheek in thanks. Vishaka has never felt lighter. Toshiko-san hands her a single
slip of paper to write her wish on. “Thank you, Toshiko-san,” she says with a
smile. The older woman interrupts her like she did during their first meeting,
and says , “ Call me okaasan!”
Vishaka’s heart clenches, speechless at the
statement. She knows enough Japanese to
know the meaning of the word.
“Okaasan.”
Mother.
Toshiko Ueno is still smiling her crinkle eyed
smile when Vishaka leans into her open arms.
“Okaasan.”
The word is still ringing in her ears.
“But I am not your daughter”, she doesn't
think.
“Okaasan.”
Vishaka has not called anyone mother in the
last nine years. It doesn't matter anymore.
Far away from her homeland, still caught in
the loving embrace of a woman with too much love to give, she murmurs, “ Happy
Tanabata, okaasan.”
Maybe one doesn't need a strip of paper for
wishes to come true.
