Bright yellow leaves line the path as I walk towards the subway station. Some of the trees are bare, others sprouting buds and yet other wearing autumn brushed red leaves.
The sun hides behind the clouds, the warmth of the earlier days absent, a gentle breeze flows through the trees, displacing the leaves from their neatly ordered rows. The overcoats are out, a sign that winter is finally accepted.
There are the dissidents though, one running in shorts and T-shirt, carrying what looks like a lunchbox. He could be running to keep himself warm, or to drive up an appetite or even to prevent the lunch from getting cold. The possibilities are endless and the answer will be never found.
The over bridge rises steeply but descends in long lumbering incline. There are barriers on the over bridge to obstruct bicycles, there is a sign asking the riders to dismount while descending.
The subway crowds seems to defy the pandemic that raising its head again. They call it the 3rd wave, but the reasons for the ebb are unclear. It could easily be the approaching winter as it could be the lax attitudes from the excesses of confinement.
Mask wearing is the norm on the train, there are no rebels here. A revolution against common sense doesn’t seem like a sensible thing to do. The seat in front empties and I sit down quickly. A corner seat is a luxury in such times, it gives space for the arms to stretch. Reducing physical contact carries a sense of relief with it.
I get down at Ebisu and decide to take the open path towards my destination. The alternative is a closed enclosed path, though protecting against the gentle draft is sometimes crowded. The lack of warmth seems to be a justified bargain for the safety of the outdoors.
It is lunch time and I have another hour before my meeting. A small restaurant , with probably three tables is visible across the street. There is a banner advertising lunch, it flutters in the breeze making only parts of it visible. I can see the three items for lunch, reasonably priced, from across the street.
So I double back, go to the pedestrian crossing and walk into the restaurant. The desire to follow the rules, not cut across the road are embedded now. The few extra metres of walk are worth the burden of guilt that comes from cutting across.
‘Take out’, the person behind the counter asks me when I order.
’No Eat in’ I say.
Taking a seat by the window , waiting for me food, I see the banner outside the shop clearly. It says ‘Take out only ’. There is another person sitting in the shop and having his lunch. But my guilt refuses to stay inside.
‘I didn’t realize it was take out only’ I tell the person at the counter when he brings my lunch in a cardboard box.
‘No you can eat in if you want to’ he says.
To emphasis his welcome, he brings me a glass of water.
I finish my lunch and start to get up, put my mask back on when the person at the counter comes with a cup of coffee.
‘Service’ he says, meaning it’s complementary.
I sit down again, take my mask off and drink the coffee.
A few more customers come in with takeout orders, the person behind the counter, whom I now suspect to be the owner, talks to them with some familiarity. I am still struggling to understand what this restaurant is about. The 30 minutes I have spent here , there have been around four customers. There are two trays of baked pies on the other table and the owner/person at the counter seems to be busy doing something despite the scarce customer flow.
This is another answer that I might never find, unless I come again in the evening and find out what the restaurant transforms into. Or maybe it is better if it stays a mystery, revelations can be disappointing.
The breeze seems to have stopped so it is warmer now when I walk towards my destination. I walk around the building, killing a few more minutes till I reach my destination , exactly five minutes before the meeting.
I wait at the lobby, and look out of the window across Tokyo on this cloudy afternoon. The Tokyo tower stands out, a flash of red in the sea of grey with smatterings or yellow and brown. The infections in Tokyo have touched a record high today, the govt news release announces. The number of people admitted to the hospitals in a serious condition have also touched a high today.
The cloudy and drab day seems apt for such depressing news. But my meeting turns out to be productive, there is promise of new business. The spring in my step as I walk out could almost be comical when viewed from outside.
The skies might be dark, the day shabby, progress slow and despairing, but hope gnaws at despair. And events counterbalance all that try to pull us down.
As I step out of the door, I see a giant chandelier fully lit up in front of me. The drab early afternoon has turned into an illuminated early evening. As darkness creeps in the chandelier burns brighter.
There is a glow outside now, mothers make their children pose in front from miniature Christmas trees with their decorative presents. People walk up to the chandelier, taking pictures from near and far.
Soon the decorative lights around the trees, other buildings or even across the walkways will be on. The drab afternoon, with its memories of the scourge, will turn into a bright evening.
From where I stand, looking past the darkness, it is shining bright!
