There’s something so special about having the context for something before you live it. It adds a certain richness, a depth to the whole thing. Today, I found myself imagining I was an old-time geisha, walking through the streets of Gion like Sayuri in the book I’d read recently, Memoirs of a Geisha — only this was Kawagoe, and I was very much a 21st-century visitor. Still, the feeling still swept over me. I’m getting ahead of myself here though, so let me backtrack.
We had originally planned to speed through a lot of things today, with an itinerary as packed as the days when Mama was here. But — as usual — I’d underestimated how long my late-night work (aka blog writing) would take. I ended up sleeping late, waking even later, and had to make the tough morning decision to skip the Tokyo bits. I rationalized it by telling myself I’ve already seen plenty of parks and shrines on this trip, and that if we tried to squeeze more in before heading to Kawagoe, we’d risk getting there too late, especially since most shops in small towns close early. Plus, I wanted to rent a kimono for the day, and I’d already wasted precious hours I could’ve spent wearing it.
I researched kimono rental shops on the train there to save time and headed straight to one when we arrived. Many shops I’d seen online required reservations, which I didn’t have. But the ladies at Kimono Rental Nanako were warm and accommodating and had no issue fitting me in right away.
They got to work immediately, showing me rows and rows of kimonos — long, intricate pieces of fabric — hanging high up on racks. I had to stretch my arm up as far as it would go just to take one off the hanger without it touching the ground.
There were different kinds of kimonos in different rows that represented different price ranges for the rental. I was instantly intrigued by a black kimono with pink sakura blossoms scattered across it in varying shades in the basic set price range. I browsed a bit longer, just for the sake of it, but I knew that first one was the one.
Next came the accessories: a matching obi (the wide belt, which was also a very long piece of fabric), a layer of innerwear with a collar that would peek out, and a handbag I could use to carry my stuff. I went with only the basic accessories that came with the standard set — even though there were flashier options for an extra 500 yen each — not because of the prices, but because the simpler ones complemented my black sakura kimono best, letting it take the spotlight.
Once I’d made all my selections, I was led to a curtained-off dressing area. One of the shop ladies (a kind, slightly older woman who’d helped me pick my pouch) came with me and gestured (and spoke, in Japanese more advanced than I could follow) for me to undress.
I expected this. I’d read about the dressing process in the book Memoirs of a Geisha, and knew that at rental shops, someone else dresses you — it’s a complicated process for someone who hasn’t done it before to manage alone. Still, I’ll admit it was awkward stripping down in front of a stranger. (I’d shaved my legs recently, but thanks to Indian genetics, the regrowth was already well underway. Probably quite the sight compared to their usual customers.) I was especially thankful I’d worn a white spaghetti top with inbuilt padding instead of just a bra — originally for warmth, but the extra inches of coverage felt like a blessing in that moment.
Not that I stood there awkwardly for long. The speed with which she dressed me was staggering, so I was covered up pretty fast, but even then, the entire process took its sweet time. First, my waist was tightly wrapped with a wide towel-like belt 3 or 4 inches wide. Then came a sleeveless under-robe, nearly reaching my ankles.
Again, as I say, the speed this woman worked with was so fast that the chronology of garments she put on me is something my brain barely registered in the moment, let alone trying to recall it after the fact. Over the next 15 minutes, there were at least 15 different pieces layered onto me: multiple belts, the innerwear I’d picked, the main kimono itself, more belts, clips to fasten the kimono in place and shorten it from the lengthy piece material it was to my height, those same clips then being replaced by yet more belts, and finally, the beautiful pink sakura obi, tied elaborately around it all.
By the end, I had so much fabric around my waist it stuck out almost as far as my chest (admittedly not a lot, but significantly more than my real waist). My regular socks were swapped out for traditional white tabi socks that separate the big toe from the others, and I was handed black sandals with pink straps to match my outfit.
Then I was sent to the hair station. I chose the seventh and last look in their brochure — a soft French braid on either side of my head, fastened with bunches of white and pale pink flowers. I’d washed my hair the day before, so it still held some natural curls, which (with more than ten pins added for security) made the final look turn out great.
I stepped down the two flights of stairs to the street surprisingly easily. The sandals made a satisfying clogging sound, without being uncomfortable like I expected them to be. I was definitely walking slower than usual, though.
When Mom, Dad, Bua, and I walk together, we inevitably split into pairs, me always being in the group that ends up ahead (and usually the cause of the split). But the kimono wrapped so tightly around my legs that I could only take small steps. I daresay the others would’ve wrapped me up like this every day if they’d known earlier.
The shop ladies gave us a walking route to follow — one that covered pretty much everything worth seeing in Kawagoe. A shrine here, a temple there, another shrine somewhere else. We picked up rice flour balls wrapped in nori along the way (and a stick without nori for Dad and Bua, who hate it). They’d been considering going to Kyoto but hadn’t made it. Kawagoe, with its clay streets and old-style houses, gave them at least a taste of what they missed.
So many people complimented the kimono. I saw it in the eyes of the lady at a coffee shop we visited after I stepped out, and heard it from the man at the brewery who called me ‘charming.’ Strangers looked at me the same way we’ve looked at other women in kimonos, with awe and admiration. I was so glad I did it — this had been on my mind since the beginning of the trip, but I kept procrastinating. I’m just grateful that when I finally realized I didn’t have much time left, there was still enough time left for this.
All afternoon, I pictured myself as the protagonist of Memoirs of a Geisha, walking down these old-style streets, living out the scenes I’d once only read about. At one point, I even refused to speak English, sticking to the little Japanese I knew — just for the vibe, even if it meant less coherence.
It didn’t matter that those few hours of walking around town weren’t as ‘productive’ in a sightseeing sense. Dad and Bua prefer more chill days anyway, and Mom was living in the kimono vicariously through me (if I may say so myself). None of the three of them opted to dress up, despite my best efforts to convince them, and that’s okay. For me, the costume was the experience, and everything else in the afternoon simply came along for the ride.
It started getting colder as we walked more, and despite that, I bought a 7-Eleven strawberry smoothie because it matched the dress. (well, not just that, I love that smoothie, but it admittedly did not go best with the weather).
From the map the kimono shop lady had shown us, there was just one stop left, and it was another shrine. It wasn’t drastically different from others we’ve seen, but the giant orange torii gate made for a great photo stop. I even ‘fished’ for a little plaster-of-paris fish with a fortune inside and managed to get a pink one (it had to match the kimono, duh) with a fortune strip tucked inside. The strip hinted positively about my love life, which I made sure Mom noticed.
It was getting pretty breezy by this point, and while I refused to wear my puffer jacket that I’d worn over my regular clothes earlier that morning, I also knew I wasn’t about to walk the whole 22 minutes (which would become 45 if we accounted for the baby steps I was walking with) back. The bus, despite a few minutes late, got us there in just 10.
On the way back, Bua and Dad stopped at what they thought was a brewery, although it turned out to be more of a regular shop. Still, Bua picked up some sake to take home. Meanwhile, Mom and I headed back to the kimono rental shop to return my outfit.
We first asked the shop lady if she’d take a photo with us, and she was more than happy to pose. She even took a few solo pictures of me using the store’s pretty backdrop, suggesting poses with the accessories, and snapping some shots of Mom and me together. She was really sweet.
The undressing process was a lot quicker than the dressing one, and took less than five minutes. It all happened in such a blur that I couldn’t even tell you what came off first. Before I knew it, I was back in my undergarments, towel belt, and socks. I took off the rest myself (not the undergarments, obviously) and changed back into my regular clothes.
Earlier that morning, I’d been desperate to get the kimono on as early as possible so I could make the most of my time wearing it. I had specifically chosen a shop with the latest return time for that very reason. But on the way to the rental shop that morning, I had also passed a pottery store that immediately stood out as the perfect place to get the one thing my boyfriend had asked me to bring back for him — a Japanese teapot — and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to buy it any other place.
I’d already picked up a few other things for him, but this was the one item he really cared about. It felt important to get it right. I’d been keeping an eye out throughout the trip but hadn’t found any suitable shops until now. Google Maps said this shop was closed on Wednesdays, and today was a Wednesday, but I’d seen it open that morning, and unsure of its closing time, I rushed with Mom to return the kimono and get to the pottery store as soon as I could.
By a stroke of luck, it was still open when we got there. Mom and I half-jogged over while Dad and Bua fell behind (they’d met up with us at the kimono rental), eventually losing sight of us, walking further ahead and having to circle back to find the shop later.
The pottery selection was massive. The teapots alone filled shelves and shelves. There were different styles: some with U-shaped straw handles and lids and spouts, others with a thick single handle sticking out of the side. These were all ceramic, painted in different ways. Then, at the far back of the shop, behind a glass sliding window, was a separate section with cast iron teapots in a significantly more expensive price range.
Aesthetically, I liked them better. But they were a different style entirely, and since it was for my boyfriend, I figured it was best if he decided for himself. Yes it was only 7 or 8 in the morning in the UK and yes he was half asleep when he picked up the phone, but it would have been a much bigger shame if I got a teapot he didn’t like.
At first, he told me to just trust my gut and pick one I thought he’d like. But I insisted he choose. I sent him close-ups of several individual pieces I thought matched his vibe, along with a gallery view of entire shelves of options. What followed was a long back-and-forth of Googling, comparing, sending photos, rechecking types. We eventually found out that while cast iron teapots look cool, they actually aren’t recommended for tea brewing, and can alter the taste.
It’s an understatement to say that the process was tedious. Even Dad, the most patient man on Earth (or at least in our family), was clearly judging me for how long the whole thing was taking. It was my own fault for not seeking out a pottery shop earlier in the trip, and now it was basically now or never. The delay was slightly redeemed by the fact that Dad was also picking out a teapot for himself though, and he turned out to be at least half as indecisive as we were.
Meanwhile, Mom and Bua had gone to Donki. They’d originally planned to browse the thrift stores on the same main street as the pottery shop, but most were either closing or too expensive, so they defaulted to good ol’ Don Quijote. Another one of my friends in London had asked me to bring back a specific brand of matcha and some Japanese cosmetics for her. Naturally, I had procrastinated that too.
Now that Dad and I had joined the others at Donki, I had my WhatsApp chat with her open. I had previously sent her photos of different matcha options from another Donki I’d been at a few days ago, thinking that if she let me know which ones she liked, I could pick them up at another Donki later on. I’d sent her pictures of packets in Japanese, and she had responded with brand names in English, which I assumed were translations of the packets I’d sent. It was a bit annoying for me to translate them myself (I’d hoped she’d just ‘WhatsApp reply` to the photos), but I looked past it.
After I struggled for a while with my mobile data not working and phone battery running low, I finally managed to run the translations, only to find that the ones she sent were entirely different brands, none of which were sold at Donki. No way was I going to find time to go to a specialized matcha shop to get them now.
We’d already spent a long time figuring all of this out and the rest of the family was eager to leave. I remembered that at some point earlier in the trip, I had sent her a photo of yet another matcha packet from yet another Donki that was a little out of the way of where we were staying currently. She’d said yes to that one, but I’d already left the store by the time she replied. And I hadn’t seen that specific brand at any other Donki since.
Now, the easiest option seemed to be going back to that Donki tonight after we reached Ikebukuro, and as tired as I was from the day, there was no more time left to procrastinate if I still wanted to get the job done.
While I was at it, I pulled up her list of cosmetics and found two exact matches (hurray!) and one near-match (a blush from a different brand that I figured would do the job). Mom and Bua helped me look — it became a bit of a family mission by this point. Everyone was ready to head home. I felt bad for making them stay, but I also knew I’d waste more time tomorrow if I didn’t finish this now.
I realized today that while I do enjoy picking out gifts when I’m choosing things myself — trying to imagine what someone might like, finding something thoughtful and personal — it’s so much more stressful when it’s something someone has specifically asked for. First, just finding the thing can be a challenge, and then trying to make sure it’s the right version or one they’ll actually like is a lot of pressure. You don’t want to get it wrong when it’s something they’ve specifically mentioned, and it would be such a shame if, after all that, they don’t like it.
Take the case of the teapot for example — it wasn’t just pressure to pick the right one, but also that of knowing I wouldn’t get another chance to find a store like that. It had to be done then and there.
I did it. But I got cranky. I need to apologize to Dad for that.
I don’t remember if I mentioned earlier, but there’s this specific hair mast that Donki sells that Mami and Eva bought for themselves while they were here, and after they went back home and used it, they asked Mom to bring some more with her.
When Mom told me this, I asked her not to. I was over the disappointment of Mama refusing to carry back my fridge magnets with him for no good reason by now, but it was Mami who had set him up to it, and while I could look past it, I wasn’t in any mood to do them the exact same favour they had so blatantly and unapologetically refused me. It was kind of mean, I know, but they 100% deserved it.
And although Mom — out of her big heart for Eva — was going to take it anyway, she ended up agreeing with me.
Mom did end up getting Eva a big (but light) pack of matcha instead — something she also wanted, but not as much. It reminded me of the ‘consolation pants’ Mama got me the day after he refused to carry the fridge magnets — he felt bad, but still continued to refuse. So yeah, fitting outcomes all around.
As stressful as the shopping was, it was a relief to know the ‘mandatory’ gift-buying was finally over. That weight was off. And the evening felt relaxed in comparison.
We did get home in time — actually, very in time, by our standards. It was only a little past 7pm because I had an onboarding meeting at 8:30pm with my new team at Bending Spoons and needed time to eat before that.
I’d been wanting to do a proper Japanese-style dinner before the end of the trip and was tempted to take everyone to a conveyor belt sushi place while we were in Kawagoe. But considering Dad and Bua’s food preferences, it felt a little unfair. Also, the day had ended up being more tiring than expected (even though it was only around 6pm), so we made the decision to head straight — with the exception of the Donki stop — home. It was a 30-minute ride on the express train from Kawagoe back to Ikebukuro — not a short distance, but fast.
Now at home, the family had a quick dinner with daal (Indian lentils) that Mom had cooked up. They then went out to do coin laundry — a task that would take roughly an hour, which lined up perfectly with my meeting. They got their family phone calls done while sitting around at the laundromat, I later found out.
Once everyone was back, we had the rest of the night ahead of us.
Mom and I had fallen way behind on our Midnight Diner tradition. We'd intended to watch one episode each night, and by now we should’ve been done with both seasons. But ever since the rest of the family had joined us, we’d barely watched any. At this point, six episodes of Season 2 still remained.
We all huddled up under duvets on the sofa bed and got watching, cracking open some Strong Zeroes we’d left chilling in the fridge since moving into the Airbnb, and finishing off the last of Dad’s whiskey. We got through three episodes and a phone call with Onkar.
Naturally, the elders had been even more worried about him since the alcohol incident (‘incident’ feels like a criminal understatement), and to make things worse, he hadn’t yet told them that he’d reached Cambridge safely after landing in London the previous day. I knew he had — I could see it on Family Sharing. But I hadn’t told the parents I had access to his location because I knew that they’d start asking me about it every time he didn’t reply to a message within two hours, which was a painful ritual I was unwilling to spark. It’d be annoying for the both of us.
There was a sibling solidarity element to it as well. I didn’t think Onkar would appreciate the idea of the parents tracking him. Back in 2017 when he’d first left for university, Mom and Dad had access to his location and he’d forgotten about it, until Mom slipped up and mentioned something she shouldn’t have known (don’t tell Mom your secrets, she cannot keep them). He felt totally violated, and had immediately turned location sharing off.
I’d practically forced him into sharing it with just me, and the guilt of the previous night was enough encouragement for him to (reluctantly, but still) agree. But I was in no mood to toe the line and risk that privilege getting revoked if found out.
Today, his phone had been off (messages weren’t delivering). It was probably out of battery and he’d fallen asleep. But he’d also told Bua he was still in London, working from the airport, after I could see he’d already reached Cambridge. I like to believe he had his reasons — he was probably just tired and didn’t want to be nagged — but the lie was unusual regardless and it made me worry a bit about where his head was at.
But while we were watching Midnight Diner, he called, and he sounded a lot less stressed than he’d been on the trip. We all spoke with him and each other for a long while. I don’t even remember what we talked about (the alcohol may or may not have had something to do with that), but I remember the feeling of it, and it was happy. In contrast to all the worry this boy had given us just days prior, we were now happy, laughing, loving the moment together and I didn’t want the night to end.