Obasan

Some day Japanese women may be seen parading the streets bearing banners on which are written “Votes for Women,”—at least what appears to be a movement in this direction was inaugurated last week, says the Far East, when a public meeting for women was held at the Kanda Y. M. C. A. under the auspices of a woman’s periodical, the Blue-Stocking.[…]Mere male creatures were allowed to be present, and curious University students who wanted to see what all the fuss was about were obliged to ask the obasans in their neighbourhood if they could seek their protection.

Even if osteoporosis is not so common in elderly Japanese women as in Caucasians when measured in terms of bone density and fractures, I am still convinced that the many obasans one sees in Japan bent nearly double did not get that way merely from planting rice.

The boys resist the Japanese names by which the obasans of the camp address them as willfully as they renounce any identification with the fragmented body of the aged grandfather.

“Yeah,” September replied, “old woman. Push and shove. Often Tokyo obasans cut in line for everything and when they get caught they act innocent. They have power and they know it, like old-lady Morimoto, the drycleaner in our building. Geez, whoever designs obasan clothing should be arrested. Those tan shoes you’re wearing are revolting. I dressed up in those clothes for a Halloween party a few years back. But I didn’t look half as real as you.”

Elderly gents in berets walked past us, elegant with walking canes, escorting obasans, grandmothers in gleaming tabi socks and geta clogs, treading lightly upon the path with a fixedness approaching solemnity.

You were nearly hypnotized by the enchanting aroma of the smoke, but managed to keep a steady pace, not wanting to be pegged as a tourist by two obasans, who, cheeks red from the cold, were chatting while cradling grandchildren in their arms.

Have you noticed what word the sales people at Shibuya 109, the Kiyoto “maiko” and night club hostesses use to refer to older women to avoid saying “obasan?”[…]Miu: Oh, wasn’t there some minister who got in trouble for calling women “reproductive machines?” Me: Exactly. That mentality. There are lots of women in their 30s and older who truly dread being called “obasan.” If it hasn’t happened already, then it could happen any second. Horrors! Miu: Moment of metamorphosis. Society decrees you useless for preservation of the species. Me: I like being obasan. I am proud of being obasan. Miu: OK, obasan. Me: Obasan is a title that you earn as a woman when you grow older and wiser and better.[…]Me: Women should be proud of being obasan. Miu: Of course. Me: Obasan Power! Miu: That’s a good way to put it. Me: But all you see in the Japanese media much of the time are obasans rushing to bargains, gossiping, taking flamenco lessons. Miu: What’s the solution? Me: I’m not sure. Data show Japanese women are choosing not to get married and not to have children, even if they do by some miracle get married.

Obasans. Every block in Tokyo has one such lady who sees that everyone on the block packages their garbage correctly.