I was going to Tokyo for the first time in October. I purchased the ticket from Kathmandu to Bangkok by Thai Airways and from Bangkok to Tokyo by Pakistan International Airways. I then applied for the passport. Unlike now, those days, we did not need to possess a passport to purchase a flight ticket. I went to Shital Niwas and submitted my passport application, and the clerk asked me to come back after six months. I told him that I was flying out the next month, but he pleaded his helplessness. So I rushed to the airline offices, and they told me that the money would be refunded in full in case of cancellation.

But I badly wanted to go to Tokyo. So I started looking for people with a contact in the passport office. In my desperation, I started talking about my problem to everyone that I met. One day at the Narayani Hotel, while exchanging courtesy with an acquaintance at the reception, I told him about my problem. Shockingly, he said, “Hajur I can help you… I have my uncle working at the passport office. He can issue your passport within an hour.” My heart came out to my mouth.

The following morning, when I went to the passport office, the ‘uncle’ asked me to wait for some time so that he could get the chief of protocol to sign my passport. The chief of protocol was seated, and the man was standing, balancing a stack of passports. The man pulled out my passport from the bottom and passed it on to the chief to sign, which he did after confirming that I was the applicant.  After picking up my passport, I returned to work happy.

The following day, I went to the Japanese Embassy for a visa, which took me less than half-hour. Fast forward to the 21st century, and the visa process is so cumbersome that it takes out the pleasure of travelling abroad for a Nepali.

A few days later, I left on my maiden voyage to the land of the Rising Sun. I flew to Bangkok and took a connecting flight to Tokyo via Manila. My flight from Bangkok was at 2 am and had originated in Saudi Arabia. It was full of Filipino migrant workers.

These days the Nepali migrant workers remind me of the Filipinos. I picked up a conversation with my seatmate, a Filipino, of higher station. What he said still resounds in my ears. Much like in Nepal today, he complained of no work in his country, ingrained corruption, political tyranny, lack of freedom and the plight of ordinary Filipinos forced to work in the desert sun.