Friendships, associations, attachments are tangled paths. They twist , turn, merge and separate, they meet sometimes and diverge at others.
Approaching half a century, a lot of names fade. There are days when a random memory crops up and the brain struggles to attach a name to a face or at least the memory of a face. When you move across a country, or to a different country, the names and faces become too numerous to remember.
Friendships in the early ages are deliberate, sometimes forced. There are benefits of belonging, the consequences of not belonging are dark. But over the years when the attitudes harden, disdain is higher and tolerance lower, the need to belong begins to feel unimportant.
When I moved to Japan close to two decades ago, leaving India at a week’s notice and for an indefinite tenure, the person who had my role asked to leave in less than two years, life seemed unsure.
There were some who stayed long and then others who went back in a few months, never to come back. The uncertainty of association was so strong, there was little desire to build on something which wouldn’t last long.
Over the years there have been friendships, very Japanese in some aspects, but strong and binding.
Then there were the unusual friendships, unnamed, unburdened and unsure.
I used to go for walks along a river at one of the few places I lived in Tokyo. There was a small walking path, winding across the river, bending with the flow and finally straightening out on the last stretch.
There was a couple who used to come for walks, our schedules coinciding and we would occasionally cross paths, walking in opposite directions.
The man was in his late 70s, bent by age, but quick on the step. The wife , perhaps a bit younger, was slower. They would rarely walk in parallel, the husband was always ahead, faster and the wife trying to catch up. When she would fall far behind he would stop, wait for her to catch up and then resume just to repeat the cycle again.
There is a certain mutual respect shared by people who get up early mornings and it is not unusual to wish others a Good Morning. It started with a brief exchange of glances, the exchange also briefer.
A few weeks later, the glances were longer the smiles faint at first and then broader. The man would catch sight of me from far, his head turning up when he neared me, the back bent, a greeting, a smile and then we were off.
On the days when I brought my son, then five years old, to the walk, he would occasionally stop, give my son a pat on his back, flash an even broader smile .
The wife was less expressive, she would greet me, monotonic and mechanical, mostly not even meeting my eyes.
There were never any words exchanged, beyond the Good Mornings, and then one day they stopped coming. I still went on my walks and occasional jogs and yet they did not appear.
Every weekday morning, I would bicycle to the subway station, park my bike at the underground parking. The first few months after I moved to the area, I would park it, buy a parking ticket, pay the attendant 100 yen and put the bike in the slot.
The attendants in the mornings were the same, and I would greet them, buy the ticket , park and leave. One of the attendants always had a ready smile, a look of recognition and after I parked my bike he would wish me ‘Itte Irasshai’. Please go and come, the non-exact equivalent of ‘Have a Good Day’.
Even after I became eligible for a monthly pass, having applied and gone through the waiting period, I would still see him, greet him and go to work. I did not transact with him but the familiar greeting was always there.
The occasional morning when I had to leave on a day trip and arrived very early in the morning, park my bicycle and head to the airport in the train, he would look at me with an expression of surprise.
‘Business Trip’ I would answer the unasked question.
And he would wish me , with an added expression to stay safe.
One day when I went to park the bicycle he was not there, he didn’t appear the next day nor the day after that. A younger person replaced him and he got replaced by someone else and the familiarity was gone.
I walk to my Gym early in the morning. Whether it is the pleasant early morning cool of a blistering summer, or the freezing cold before the dawn or the spring or autumn morning with the nip in the air, I am making my trudge to the Gym around a kilometre away from my home.
I started crossing paths with two women, probably in the late 70s or early 80s, walking their dogs in the early morning hour. The dogs lingered during the walk, either due to old age or curiosity. One of them was an Apso, with a squeaky toy that the owner would toss occasionally, encouraging the dog to move ahead. The Apso had the barest of interest in the toy and would often forget it when I passed. The foreign smell , familiar with each day, seemed to fascinate it more. The toy would remain, and the owner would notice the missing today after walking a few metres and head back pick it up toss it again, probably to be ignored again.
Our greetings started in the dark winter mornings, the faces obscured by the intermittent light shining through the trees on the path. Then Summer came and even though all of us started going out earlier, our paths still crossed. The faces were clearer now and we recognised each other in the early morning light.
Our familiarity reached newer levels and they would wish me a pleasant day, a comment on the heat and then the cold in the winters. A few times I tossed back the toy the Apso had left behind and they thanked me.
When the pandemic stuck, the Gyms closed and warning went out not to go outside unless required, I changed my schedule, took a different path for an early morning walk or a run. I did not see them, there were others though, greetings through masked faces.
The pandemic waned, the Gyms opened I went back to my routine but they were not there. Either our schedules did not coincide or they were not walking their dogs anymore. I looked for them till I got used to not looking for them and tried to imagine the reasons they were not there.
The Summer turned to winter, the mask wearing more pronounced, faces almost forgotten. One of the days when I deviated from my path and time, I came across the Apso and then the owner. The other lady was not there, neither was the dog.
I was masked, not carrying my Gym bag, probably unrecognisable from before. But I would have recognised the Apso and the toy anywhere. I looked up and wished her Good Morning.
She looked up, startled at the recognised familiarity , smiled and said ‘Ohayo Gozaimasu’!
