Over time, I have collected numerous postcards, but there is one that stands out. The story goes…

The tube train, eastbound, made an unscheduled stop. The P.A. came on, informing the passengers that there was an accident ahead of us, just before the next station and that the driver was waiting for further instructions on when to proceed. The train sat in the tunnel for half an hour before the driver’s voice interrupted my reverie and announced that we would proceed to Hyde Park Station, but he would not be able to stop the train at the usual designated spot. He explained that the front of the train would stop halfway through the platform’s length and that the passengers from the middle and tail section of the train needed to move forward towards the front to safely alight! At this point, whispers about what caused the delay escalated to a cacophony of people talking loud, talking over each other, asking and speculating what had gone wrong.

I started to walk through to the packed carriages making my way towards the front when I felt someone poking my forearm ever so lightly. I turned around to find this Japanese girl who looked so worried. She asked, “Are there terrorists?” It was a period when London was on high alert for attacks, so understandably, any problem with tube delays was suspect. As we stepped out of the train onto the platform, I assured her that was not the case. I explained that a person, unfortunately, jumped in front of the train ahead of us, hence we had to stop. I did not think that quelled her anxiety because I could see panic written across her face.

I tried to find my way out of the station as I needed to figure out how to continue my journey on the ground level as I did not want to get further stuck underground. I did not realize that the Japanese girl started following me. I suppose she did not know where to go, but neither did I! Once overground, I could not see a bus stop nearby, so I continued to walk. The next tube station was a trek, but the girl kept pace with me. We sort of walked together in silence. When we reached the station, she stopped and thanked me and, true to her cultural tradition, she bowed her head, so I bowed mine (the advantage of knowing when to time it to match hers. Otherwise, I would get so delayed in continuing my journey because of endless, asynchronous bowing!) Then in halting English, she asked me for my address. I usually do not give my home address to strangers. However, I felt compelled. I had forgotten about this brief encounter until, months later, on a wintry December day, I received a New Year’s postcard featuring the Eiffel Tower and stamped from Paris at that. I learned that Emelie, the Japanese girl, was a student who was in London trying to learn the English language and then went to Paris to learn French. By the time I managed to make a phone call to her number in Paris, she had already left for Japan.

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