My Friend Mimi

“The average pencil is seven inches long, with just a half-inch eraser - in case you thought optimism was dead.” ~ Robert Brault

My room at the Asia Kaikan was the size of a matchbox. The bathroom was a wee bit smaller than that and if I held my breath, I could take a shower and if I stood on the potty, I could brush my teeth. I’ve seen thimbles larger than the sink. I mean I know Japanese are smaller than even Indians, but this was ridiculous.

The minimalism of the room, together with its Lilliputian dimensions forced me to spend much my stay in Tokyo in the hotel’s cafeteria-cum-lounge. Not many Indians stayed at the Asia Kaikan. Those who visited Japan in its heyday of the early 80s, had enough money to spring for a room at the Imperial Hotel. But even my father would’ve have balked at his daughter spending seven week’s worth of yen at the Imperial, so I resigned myself to the Asia Center. (A lot has changed from its Motel Sixish standing since then.)

I had been learning Japanese for two years and my dad had thought two months in Japan would have me speaking like a native. Obviously, he had no clue about how tough this language was. Mastering the Hiragana and Katakana alphabet was a piece of cake. But short of marrying a Jap and living several lifetimes in Japan, there was no way I was going to master Kanji - the Chinese script. (My Spanish friend Anabel tried to get a petition started to revoke the Kanji, but gave up after three signatures.) Speaking was a lot easier, and I could get around town with ease (even though there were no maps to be found, so why they would have a word for it beats me), order okonomiyaki or tempura in a restaurant and even shop (if you are taller than 5 feet and weigh more than 100 pounds, your credit card won’t leave your wallet). Discussing the establishment of the Bakufu in the Kamakura period or the intricacies of the theatrical tradition of Noh was a bit beyond me.

One morning, I noticed an Indian girl sitting all by herself in the cafeteria. One billion people in India, but the gravitation between desis who know each other is the equivalent of a 300-pound pull force of a neodymium magnet .

“Aren’t you Sheila Botawala’s daughter?” I asked. Yes, she answered, surprised that I knew her mother from the golf circle at the Willingdon Club. Since I was at loose end and had scouted out every nook and cranny of the city, I offered to show her around - how to exchange money, take the subway, and explore the areas of Shinjuku and Shibuya, Harajuku and Roppongi.

At the end of two days, she was ready to continue on to Mishima. I asked Mimi if she was confident to go by herself, since I had shown her the train station. “I didn’t see anything,” she replied.

What the hell was she talking about? Of all the ungrateful ... I hadn’t finished bud-budding, when she explained her predicament. She was visually impaired and had really not seen much of what I had shown her, but had enjoyed the whole experience to the max. I ended up accompanying her to the station and got the ticket collector to make sure she disembarked at the right stop in Mishima. Not that it would have been hard to track an Indian girl lost amongst 50,000 Mishimites (Mishimians?)

Mariam Botawala was diagnosed with macular degeneration at the age of 12. Credit goes to her parents who treated her no differently from her sister Shameem and encouraged her to do whatever she wanted and more. She played golf, learned Italian, French, Japanese, and went to boarding school. She worked with the Indian Tea Board in Brussels and went to all the international exhibitions in Europe promoting Indian tea.

These days she stays incredibly busy. She is an exercise addict, a relentless traveler and a devoted student of her guruji B.K.Iyengar. Yoga, she says, has given her inner strength and balance - needed to do the work she does. Together with her sister and her mother, she runs the D.M.Jariwala orphanage. The WeCan organization runs courses in computers, fashion designing, catering, health care, yoga, gardening, arts and crafts and the English language. The orphanage currently has 65 girls from the most backward classes and poverty-ridden society and gives them the skills to empower them to succeed in life.

Mimi is the eternal optimist and does not let her impairment impede her in any way. “I believe in counting my blessings,” she says. “How can I ever complain when I have so much to thank God for and I see so many people with bigger problems than mine.”

She looks at life through a prism that is perpetually rose-colored. Her cup not only runneth over, she shares what it contains with everyone else and her optimism is infectious.

The next time I whine about a zit on my face ( it was just before a wedding) or about losing a jacket (it was my favorite Ann Taylor one) or about an annoying bit of apple peel stuck in my teeth (no floss in my handbag), I shall think of my friend Mimi.