Tetsuya was a surprising encounter for me. I had been looking for some English-speaking people to talk to, which is not easy in Japan. So after a few weeks in Japan, I posted an online ad: 'I am a South Asian staying here, and want to meet some local people. I just want to talk. And I can't speak Nihongo [Japanese]'--something like that. A week later I received an email from Tetsuya, the only one to respond to my ad. We started emailing.

... Friend, I feel very sorry knowing all these things Japan did to the Chinese people during the WWII. I never knew this. Did they do something similar to your country-people too?

--was what he asked me in an email in the context of the Chinese, in February-March of this year, raising strong objections to Japan's claim of a permanent seat in the UN Security Council. Japanese public opinion ran strongly against the Chinese. But Tetsuya's was a different concern. I replied: ...No, we didn't have Japan. Long before WWII, our colonial lords were the British. So we survived Japanese atrocities, but definitely had to go through British ones. Of course in other forms.

I thought about, but decided against, telling him how Japan had been tied with the 'Azad Hind' movement of Netaji Subash Bose. Things would get too complicated. We kept on emailing each other until he invited me for a friendly meeting. Excited, because this was the first time in Japan that I had contacted somebody on my own without any prior introduction, I went to Hiroshima city. At the train station, of course I went to the wrong gate. Tetsuya was waiting at the other gate. We contacted each other over cell-phones, an essential component of the Japanese lifestyle. I had to search for fifteen minutes before finding the gate Tetsuya was at.

Tetsuya had lived in Los Angeles, United States for almost sixteen years, where he had a music studio and served as a production manager. But he lost interest, came back and joined his father's engineering firm. On the way to the parking area, he asked me hesitantly if I would like to go to Soka Hall, a famous peace initiative run according to Buddhist theology. Mr. Ikeda is the current president, traveling all around the world, delivering lectures on his understanding of Buddhism and peace. Tetsuya is a follower of him and also a volunteer member.

'So why did you hesitate to ask me about that?' I asked him as we were on the road, looking through the books he had bought for me.

'Because every time I start discussing these things with a new person, they stop listening and want to get rid of me.'

'I understand what you mean. People are becoming more secular I guess.'

'Yes, but we are talking about peace. It has nothing to do with religion as such. You're not a Buddhist, or Ikeda's follower, but because you're a peace-loving person, you're showing interest. You're a good Buddhist.'

But I really couldn't tell him about how I actually felt about the global peace activities, or the various Japanese movements about it. I sat there, a little nervous about how to act like a 'good Buddhist.'

This time when he invited me to a concert, things went better. I sat with his family among thousands of people, with packaged food for lunch. Tetsayu said that the concert had been arranged by a group affiliated with Soka activities, and that some of the American jazz musicians were Buddhist. The organizers, Youth Music Forum, had tried hard to publicize the event 'Music for Peace' or something like that with celebrity jazz players Herbie Hancock on the piano and Wayne Shorter playing the saxophone. First, though, there were other pieces, including Japanese traditional drums, all of which was fabulous. And finally the centerpiece by the jazz team from US, who played fusion numbers composed for this event. Most of the Japanese came with their families, and there were a lot of foreigners, too. This is something very common in Hiroshima round the year, especially during July and August around Hiroshima Day.

Having been to the concert I had not planned on going to the August 6 event. But Rehman, a Pakistani friend at Hiroshima University, phoned me while still in bed (it was an off-day) and said he needed a reason to get out of it. So we went to at Hiroshima city. It was twilight, the sun and clouds together as the calm Hiroshima sky turned saffron. A huge crowd was heading towards the tramline. Once I joined them, I thought it would have been a loss if I hadn't come.

Though it has all the facilities of a typical hi-tech Japanese city, Hiroshima, with a population less than two million, is not a major metropolitan center. But that day it seemed to be different. The trams were jam-packed in the evening though it was Saturday. Almost everybody got off in front of the Atom Bomb dome. The dome is actually the remains of a building, said to be the only building nearby which hadn't collapsed completely in the bombing. Eventually it became the monument of grief and hope together, a symbol for Hiroshima. The city authorities have preserved the damaged building. A peace memorial park and the peace museum were established afterward in the same compound.

There were people all over the place: around the dome, in the park, and on the streets. Of all the ages, but more importantly, of all the races! Hiroshima people believe that they are conveying the message of peace to the world. It is the identity of Hiroshima today. That evening I got to see how the message was being reciprocated by the world. Every year, the city prepares itself to accommodate thousands of tourists from around the event, all with some specific reason to join the event, whether peace activists from America, or Britain, or anti-nuclear activists from Germany, or human right activists from Egypt. It appeared as to be an all-encompassing event for different people from different corners of the world. I don't know, but I had the feeling that the July London bombings exaggerated the appeal of this day. Candles were lighted on the dome compound. Children were asking their parents what all this was about. There was a wall beside the dome, built from wood collected from all over the world, built as a symbol of the chain of the peace-loving people of the world. Small pieces of wood signed by the individuals. A block imprinted "I love India" caught my eyes. Rehman and I both smiled.

Thousands of people moving around, and hundreds of thousands more metaphorically present with their signatures--the global camp of pro-peace people. But at that moment, in front of the Atom Bomb dome, I kept thinking: Is there anybody in the world who really expects the world will be rid of nuclear arms? Or any weapon? Aren't the Iraqi people wanting the end of the occupation and justice against those who invaded them? And what else could the British expect except to be bombed again? I remembered my disappointment the first day I came to see the dome. There is a memorial stone about the dropping of the Bomb, that said a lot of words about 'humanity' and so on, but did not name the actor that was responsible for the attack: the United States. Not one word. This is how Japan balances its contemporary politics. And this is how many global peace activists approach their mission: without naming any possible opponent, except some anonymous evil. Or, at present, that 'evil' being named loudly: 'terrorism'.

'So how do you feel now?' Rehman asked me.

'Oh, I am very much with it,' I replied. On summer nights, flowers are a little paler than they are in springtime in Japan. Still karabis were bright under the electric floodlights. Karabi was the first flower that blossomed after the bombing; it is special in Hiroshima. I was not able to find out its Japanese name. Sakura [cherry flowers] are synonymous with Japan, but for the older generation in Hiroshima, these karabis mean something special.

Hiroshima city is intersected by at least seven rivers. The dome is located by the Mato yasu river and people were packed on both sides of it. Shops were selling candles, wooden frames and paper covers. Hundreds had queued up to light their candles, which they then floated on the river. By the riverside, a group of people were singing in Japanese. Yuko, our guide, translated some parts. They were about the victims of the bombing, about war ruining human lives, about how Hiroshima again stood on its feet.

The main official program was in the peace park, where on a huge stage at least 300 musicians--Japanese and foreign peace-delegates together-under a Japanese conductor. Mammoth screens were showing the event to viewers. This had a completely a different atmosphere, with melancholy music, and we decided to return to the Mato yasu. where the singers were still singing, people were still in queues. They would continue till midnight. Or maybe till the stocks of candles were finished. Offering light to souls is partly a Shinto rite which has gotten fused with contemporary ones related to 'light.' The A-bomb killed almost 250,000 people in Hiroshima. Some of them jumped into the river to cool down the unbearable pain inside, and to escape the extraordinary heat outside, and died in the river. Thousands of lives came to a miserable end: victims of competitions among state machines, victims of the desire of some to dominate the world. Everybody knows the story. It is kind of a folktale in Hiroshima, uttered like a hymn, at least on the day of 6 August.

And when you listen to the story and see the candles floating on the river, you definitely hope that their light reaches those unfortunate souls. Souls of all those who fought against Japanese militarism and died, and got bombed and died, were silenced about the whole history of peoples' uprising for social justice in Japan, and then were silenced again about those who dropped the Bomb on Hiroshima, and Nagasaki. We are told that peace will come after we pay the price for it. These people have been paying it. But for what? I can see two poles people and the war machines. If people keep on being killed, at least that would be one resolution. That's one kind of peace for sure.

In this huge crowd I was not sure if being pro-peace meant anything. I decided to go back. Rehman and Yuko wanted to stay on.

'So what will you do at home?' Rehman asked me.

'Nothing. Maybe eat something. I am starving,' I replied as I started walking to the tramline.

Manosh Chowdhury teaches anthropology at Jahangirnagar University. Currently he is at Hiroshima University, Japan.