The Japan Mirror: A Letter to my homeland

 

The last morning in Tokyo, I stood in a spotless 7-Eleven. Here, the floors gleamed, the sandwiches were art, and the clerk bowed as he handed me change. In that moment, it hit me: this isn’t about wealth. It’s about choice.  

Japan taught me that societies aren’t built by governments, but by millions of small decisions—like the salaryman who picked up a stranger’s trash, or the train conductor who announced delays with palpable shame. At Fushimi Inari, I watched a toddler drop her candy wrapper. Before she could blink, her grandmother knelt and whispered something that made the girl march it to the bin. No scolding. Just quiet teaching of a sacred contract: You don’t dirty your own home.

Back in India, we call rule-followers "fools." We swerve past red lights like champions, hack systems like it’s a talent, then rage when officials steal. But in Japanese villages—where pensions fund community sake breweries and farmers’ markets—I saw the truth: loophole culture is poverty of imagination. Real power lies in building systems so fair, cheating feels stupid.  

On the bullet train to Kyoto, I met a retired engineer who’d worked in Mumbai. "Your people are brilliant," he said. "But why do you tolerate filth your brightest minds could fix in a week?" I had no answer. Later, watching Kyoto’s geisha glide past 400-year-old teahouses kept pristine by generations, I realized: tradition isn’t about clinging to the past—it’s about gifting the future.  

Yes, Japan has its flaws—the crushing work culture, the loneliness behind polite smiles. But their streets hum with a quiet lesson: when citizens believe in shared spaces, magic happens. No "Swachh Bharat" ads needed.  

As my flight took off, I craved masala chai more than any matcha. But I also craved an India where:  

- A village schoolteacher earns enough to stay rural  

- Tourists don’t need "foreigner prices" warnings  

- We take pride in sidewalks, not just startups  

Seven days was perfect. Long enough to fall in love, short enough to stay hungry. Next time, Japan—but first, my own incredible, infuriating, capable country needs me.  

Until then, sayonara—with a fistful of conbini receipts and dreams of cleaner horizons. I'm sure you'll surprise me yet again, the next time I'll be here.