Tokyo

Living in Japan you understand the extent to which the Japanese are discriminating and demanding consumers. They generally eschew pesticides. Japanese growing their own fruit trees in their tiny garden plots will painstakingly wrap each pear, plum, or any other fruit while hanging from tree branches, in paper bags to keep them free from pests as they ripen.

The Japanese consumer demands freshness and quality in their food products. And now the Japanese consumer must contend with the reality that for the time being, their drinking water has been contaminated with radiation, as well as the food they are growing.

For a nation that was horribly traumatized by two of the world's only atomic bomb attacks at the conclusion of World War II, at Hiroshima and Nagasaki, this represents the ultimate nightmare, the troika of tragedy that assailed them in 2011.

One of these events; the monumental earthquake, the hugely destructive tsunami, and now the dire threat of nuclear installations proving unstable and ready to explode, would have been enough to bring most nations to their knees. The stolid, courteous Japanese, accustomed by culture and heritage to orderly and subdued acceptance, await delivery from their nightmare.

There are countless children who are now orphans, and other children who, having survived their ordeal, have lost one parent, and their childhood. One wonders how they will survive to a balanced adulthood with those dreadful memories forever looming deep inside to be retrieved without their will or assent.

This is certainly, most certainly, not the Tokyo I knew and treasured, with its constant hubbub, its busy life, its localized communities revolving around mutually-obligated work site and temple, and village-atmosphere shopping areas; the fish-mongers, tea shops, kissaten, fruiterers, florists, rice shops.

Where in the centre of Tokyo, high-rise apartments sported the tongues of countless sleeping mats hung from windows to air throughout the day, until needed once again in the evenings, as Tokyo slept. Where road work crews set out to repair municipal roads at night, while few cars were on the road, so the following day's traffic could proceed unimpeded.

Where taxis were immaculately maintained by their white-gloved drivers who meticulously dusted them inside and out, to present clean surfaces to their clients. Where in dense traffic never a car horn would be heard, and motorists, stopped at red lights, turned off their ignitions until the light turned green, to automatically conserve energy.

Where consummately beautiful displays of art were underwritten and held for display in the great shopping emporiums in the Ginza, Akihabara, Shinjuku, Shibuya, Oriental Bazaar and other areas, at the Seibu, Mitsukoshi, Isetan, Odakyu, Tokyu department stores. Where stylish clothing, exquisite porcelains and lacquerware could be found.

Where, on the street, the great Japanese Kodo drummers would set up their equipment and entertain passers-by, and invite one now and again to try their hand at beating the drums. Those drums, whose deep, living sound would vibrate deep in the chests of those standing and listening, as though they were live souls whose voices the drummers freed.

Still there, but muted, threatened. With the population quietly awaiting events to unfold. To inform them whether their lives will return to normalcy, or become further compromised.