The invisible Indian

Satomi Kidera's natural complexion suggests a blush. But it became the all more pronounced when I wanted to know where the action' -- me...

Satomi Kidera8217;s natural complexion suggests a blush. But it became the all more pronounced when I wanted to know where the action8217; 8212; meaning nightspots in my vocabulary 8212; was in Fukuoka, Japan.

In my book, cities are best experienced well after sundown. Food, drinks and nightlife. Satomi, my beautiful young lady interpreter, whose dream it is to become a tour guide and come to India, was simply no help in this quest. She would leave me at 8 pm every day, for she had a night class to attend.

Fried fish eggs, raw fish and lobsters with rice for dinner are delicious, they say. But when you find them on the table for breakfast, lunch and dinner, the system rebels. Also, it is frightfully expensive 8212; one meal with a glass of sake and one can of Kirin beer set me back by 3,800 Yen, almost 30.

Having said that, I must confess the Ramen noodles at the yathais 8212; roadside dhabas 8212; were rather good and I learnt they are Fukuoka8217;s contribution to typical Japanese food. But salads at the sameyathais, comprising chopped, raw ladies8217; fingers, capsicum and a masala-like powder whose active ingredient is fish-meal, were something else for a stomach used to curries and fried potatoes.

The sake was perfect. So was the Kirin. But there was still a question mark against the nightlife. Thus far, it was confined to yathais, the 24-hour 7-Eleven departmental stores 8212; from where I got my bread, butter, yogurt and fruit juice 8212; and the benches on the lovely little Naka River.

Finally, on the night before I left the city, a fellow Indian and I went out on our own to discover Fukuoka by night. After walking for almost an hour on the near-empty streets we reached the canal linked to the Naka River. It was 1 am, but there was a lot of traffic in one of the lanes.

So off we went into the lane to discover a new world. A world full of lights, immaculately-dressed men armed with stylish briefcases walking around briskly at 1 am. There were restaurants galore, young men and womenbeckoning customers to step in. The decor left little room for the imagination. This was action8217; street. Nude posters, videos, women dressed like geishas and pretty, painted boys.

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For the next hour or three we strolled on. I have known action8217; streets the world over offering discounts to foreigners. No such luck here. The minimum cover charge seemed to be 6,000 yen, about 45! Worse, no one was even trying to coax me into parting with that amount.

We looked around to see if the local customs prevented them from persuading the masses. Certainly not, because the Japanese men were being vigorously pursued. When I tried to make eye contact, sometimes I detected a hint of a smile. But it could have been my imagination for in the daytime, the Japanese are ever so courteous, bowing and smiling. Right now, the looks weren8217;t cold. They were simply directed the other way.

That8217;s when it struck me, I could see no other foreigners on the street. Just Japanese and more Japanese. What else do you expect in Japan, Itold myself bitterly. My friend claims he saw one American 8212; or a Brit 8212; looking as bewildered as us. And I saw an UFO, I told him.

We may as well have been two invisible men. Present in flesh and blood, but not visible to the local Japanese. At other times, I would have felt like Mr. India. But the difference here was, I wanted people to see me and acknowledge my existence. At 3.30 am I returned disappointed and unsure whether I existed or not. Maybe I was merely passing through life, as my one-time idol Osho preached. But for three hours I felt like an invisible Martian passing through Fukuoka and only my fellow Martian, also from India, can vouch for that. There8217;s no other evidence. Except the paper bag from 7-Eleven. It even has some breadcrumbs.