The first thing Akira Ofuka does is bow—deep, almost ceremonial. Then he straightens up, beams at me, and declares, “Aah! Indo! Land of Gandhi!” He says this with such great delight that I can’t help but beam back at him. I am at a yakitori restaurant in Nagato, a small coastal city tucked into the northern edge of Japan’s Yamaguchi Prefecture. And for 73-year-old Ofuka-san who runs it along with his wife, I am apparently his first encounter with an Indian traveller.






