The timeless timepiece

KC Verma

ATTENDING international conferences in foreign countries sounds more attractive than it actually is. The long flights, packed meeting schedules and formal receptions leave no time for sightseeing, and the monotonously similar hotel rooms make one conference seem like any other. After just a few weeks, it is sometimes difficult to even remember which city one had visited. But there is a small timepiece that sits on my study table, reminding me with every tick-tock of one trip that was different.

It was about 15 years back that I visited Tokyo to attend a conference. The schedule was depressingly hectic, so I decided to skip one session to visit the famed Electric City, which has hundreds of shops selling a mindboggling range of electronic goods. On an impulse, I decided to buy an iPod, that small electronic device which stores and plays music. A helpful salesgirl showed me a range of products. Even though she did not know English and I was not conversant in Japanese, through giggles and gestures, she helped me select an iPod of 4-GB capacity from among several choices. I then went to the cash counter and paid for it. The salesgirl handed over the iPod in a carry bag and I proceeded to the exit of the store. Before I stepped out, I paused to admire my purchase, but then I saw that the iPod given to me was a 1-GB model and not the 4-GB version that I had paid for. I returned to the counter and made gestures to explain the mistake to the salesgirl.

I had expected her to apologise and give me the product I had purchased. I was, however, totally unprepared for her reaction. She blanched. She started babbling rapidly in Japanese and sobbing at the same time. She then fled from the counter and returned with her supervisor, both of whom kept explaining something incoherently. I assumed that they were apologising and kept assuring them that it was okay. But the obviously unhappy supervisor then fetched the store manager, who knew a bit of English. The latter then volubly apologised in a flood of Japanese and broken English. I tried to make light of it, saying that anyone could have made this simple mistake. But the salesgirl, her supervisor and the manager stood before me in obvious distress and bowed repeatedly. Quite at a loss, I bowed back several times. The manager insisted on giving me the iPod free of cost. I was equally adamant that I would pay for it. Ultimately, we compromised, and the manager gifted me a small clock to atone for their slip-up.

That iPod is now long gone, lost in the folds of time and technological obsolescence. But the small timepiece still ticks away on my study table to remind me of a foreign visit that was made special by Japanese courtesy and meticulousness.

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