TOKYO has acquired a justified reputation as a great place for shopping and fine dining among visitors. But perhaps less well known is the fact that this is a place to view great works of art as well.

Art exhibitions are big draws in Japan, but one in particular that has been packing them in is an exhibition of works on the theme "Post Impressionism". The 115 masterworks in this exhibition are on loan from the Musee d'Orsay in Paris.

The display is surely one of the biggest tourist draws this summer — Japanese tourists that is, as I saw few obviously foreign people on a recent visit.

On display is the famous painting by Dutch painter Vincent van Gogh of his bedroom in Arles, a city in southern France where he lived. There are three versions of this painting, each featuring a different assortment of portraits on the wall to the right.

The one owned by the d'Orsay is the third version, which came about when Van Gogh, a year before he died, decided to redo some of his best works in a smaller size to present to his mother and sister.

Also on display is French painter Claude Monet's Water Lilies, one of some 250 paintings in a series done by him, depicting his flower garden at Giverny, a town in northern France.

The Japanese love Monet, not least because he admired Japanese art and his works are heavily influenced by it. The Water Lilies show a Japanese style bridge that he had in his garden.

Although the exhibition opened on May 26, there are still long queues to get in, especially in the morning when one might have to wait 30-50 minutes.

Once inside, however, the crowd is really not all that bad. One can linger as long as one likes in front of any painting.

That was not the case in 1974, when Leonardo da Vinci's well-known Mona Lisa was exhibited in Tokyo. Some 1.5 million Japanese went to see the painting, a record yet to be broken.

The queues outside the museum were up to 2 km long! Inside, people had to be kept moving to make sure they did not remain too long in front of the Mona Lisa.

Unusual for an exhibition of masterworks, visitors to the d'Orsay exhibition are allowed to stand really close to the paintings. But for works by the Impressionists and post-Impressionists, in most cases, you really want to stand away from a painting to appreciate it better.

The exhibition is on until Aug 16, 2010 at the National Art Centre, Tokyo, located in Roppongi, a district known for its night life but which has been extensively redeveloped in recent years.

The National Art Centre facility is unique. It boasts a total of 14,000 sq. m. of exhibition space, the largest in Japan, but has no permanent collection of its own. Typically, there are several exhibitions going on at the same time.

There are also two privately-owned museums in the Roppongi area - the Suntory Museum of Art and the Mori Art Museum.

Under a scheme to promote all three facilities, entry to an ongoing exhibition at one of the three entitles one to buy discounted tickets for specified exhibitions at the other two.

Incidentally, the 115 paintings from the d'Orsay collection can normally only be seen in Paris. The Tokyo exhibition is made possible by the fact the d'Orsay is renovating its popular Impressionist galleries at this time, allowing the paintings to leave its premises.

Before the exhibition opened in Tokyo, the paintings went on display in Canberra, Australia. If you miss them in Tokyo, you will have to go to San Francisco where they will be shown for four months from mid September.

The exhibition here is jointly organized by the National Art Centre, the Musee d'Orsay and the leading business daily Nikkei. It is not uncommon for Japanese dailies to lend their names to major art exhibitions, considering how popular such events are with the Japanese public.

For example, the leading Asahi Shimbun daily is behind an exhibition of European masterpieces from the Boston Museum of Fine Arts now currently on at the Kyoto Municipal Museum of Art.

That exhibition runs until Aug 29 and is certainly worth a trip to the ancient capital if you are visiting Japan.

THE Japanese media - radio, television and newspapers – is in trouble as their traditional business models are slowly disintegrating.

On March 15, key radio stations in the Tokyo and the Osaka areas began broadcasting through the Internet as well in a bid to win back listeners.

But the initiative, orchestrated by advertising giant Dentsu, may already be too late.

Radio advertising revenue peaked at 240 billion yen in 1992 but fell to just over half, or 137 billion yen, last year.

Many radio stations have had to drop big-name guests from their shows for lack of sponsors.

In the past, Japanese teenagers often studied late into the night, with midnight radio talk shows their only company.

These days, radio sets are a rarity in many Japanese homes.

For audio visual entertainment, young people need only turn on their notebook computers and log on to the Internet.

Television stations have also been badly gored by the Internet.

Young people – and that includes Japanese below the age of 35 - who spend two hours or more each day viewing video content at popular sites like nicovideo.jp are likely to be doing so at the expense of watching television.

TV stations have been hit by the double whammy of declining sponsors due to the poor economy and falling viewership due to the encroachment of the Internet.

Lower revenue means the stations have less money to pour into producing quality programmes, which in turns means less viewers, leading to a vicious spiral.

To capture the Internet crowd, one TV station has taken to producing made-for-Internet video content as well.

Success is not assured however.

It is said that many young Japanese do not bother to check programme listings to see what’s on the air.

Instead, they check the latest Internet buzz to see if there’s anything worth watching at all. Most days, unfortunately there probably isn’t.

These days, the bulk of Japanese television programmes aimed at the young, or the young-at-heart, consists of quiz shows and talk shows, many of them hosted by up-and-coming comedians because the latter do not command high fees.

Viewer preferences are also rapidly changing.

Given Japan’s superb Internet infrastructure and the latest Internet technologies, it is now possible, using services such as Ustream, for anyone with a web camera and a notebook computer to make instant netcasts.

And the Japanese have of late developed a taste for “dadamore” (literally “continual stream”) shows – unedited live video of virtually unscripted events such as talk fests featuring well-known bloggers and other icons of Japan’s Internet world.

At any given time of the day, nicovideo.com offers a variety of live “programmes” that are just a mouse click away.

Also increasingly popular these days are unedited netcasts – both recorded and live - of press conferences held by key political and business figures.

Until recently, the man in the street was only able to see such well known people in newspaper articles or video news clips that have been heavily edited.

Now, anyone with access to the Net can view a press conference in the raw and compare what they see or hear to what newspapers and television actually report.

Most times, it is quite clear that the media has an agenda of its own, and sometimes even an axe to grind.

For instance, in the past year or so, it has become increasingly apparently that the media has joined hands with the bureaucracy to bring down one man – political kingpin Ichiro Ozawa, who is currently secretary general of the ruling Democratic Party of Japan.

Somehow media companies seem always to be conducting opinion polls just hours after a scandal breaks, which invariably brings down the popularity ratings of the government as well as dents Ozawa’s own stature.

Conspiracy theories naturally abound.

Some say that the media is gunning for Ozawa because he wants to dismantle the cross-holding of shares between newspaper companies and TV stations.

Japan is said to be the only major developed nation to allow newspaper companies to own and control TV stations.

Meanwhile, the bureaucracy is said to want to get rid of Ozawa because the veteran politician has always wanted to loosen the bureaucracy’s grip on policy- making.

He is also one of the few politicians around who can see through the political games played by bureaucrats.

In particular, the public prosecutor’s office, which failed in an earlier bid to nail Ozawa over a political funds control offence, is said to interested in seeing Ozawa go too as he wants to change the way investigations are carried out by having them recorded and videotaped.

At the same time, newspapers are also fighting for their own survival.

Numerous attempts in recent years to make evening editions of newspapers more colourful and entertainment-oriented have failed to raise circulation, especially among young Japanese.

After all, they can read the news for free on the Internet. Anyway, most people do not need more information than what news headlines provide.

On the morning rush hour trains, it is becoming less common to see commuters reading newspapers. Instead, they are staring into cellphones, which have become the medium of choice for gleaning information.

The leading business daily Nikkei recently launched a comprehensive web edition that is likely to further reinforce this cell phone reading habit.

There is also growing dissatisfaction with the fact that newspapers lack an interactive element.

To give the paper a “human face” and to get direct feedback from readers, the influential Asahi Shimbun daily now has a team of staff who send out tweets on Twitter every evening.

The tweets are not aimed at selling the paper directly. That would be too unsubtle.

Instead, the Asahi employees attempt to convey the excitement in the newsroom by tweeting about how the paper is being laid out, what to look out for in the next edition, and even such things as whether their Washington correspondent can file his report on schedule.

At times, Asahi’s correspondents are also roped in to tweet about what is happening in their territories.

The Asahi staff also answer queries almost immediately, and in that way give the paper an interactive feel.

In every sector of Japan’s media industry, new business models are clearly in the making.

WANT to know what Japanese Interior Minister Kazuhiro Haraguchi had for breakfast despite a weight problem, or who he took a bath with?

No use searching the mainstream media or even the tabloid press.

Mr Haraguchi tells it all on Twitter, the social media network that is enjoying a boom in Japan.

Also described as a micro-blog service, Twitter allows participants to talk about what they are doing or what is on their minds in "tweets" that are limited to 140 characters in length.

"This left-over curry is really good," Mr Haraguchi wrote in a tweet at breakfast on Tuesday morning. "I'm having a double helping! My weight is 76.5 kg, according to the weighing machine. But I'm told it's broken. I want to believe so."

Last month, he waxed poignantly about getting into the bath with his young daughter.

He tweeted: "She said to me, 'Otosan ("Papa"), very soon we may resent having a bath together.' So I asked her timidly, 'May I?' She replied, 'OK. I will scrub your back for you.' In another 3 months' time, maybe we won't be doing this anymore."

Mr Haraguchi tweets about 20 to 25 times a day, much of it work-related, like who he meets or what he is about to do next. But he has also written about new policy ideas on his mind that have not yet been reported in the press.

Prime Minister Yukio Hatoyama has been on the Twitter bandwagon since New Year's Day. He does not upload his tweets himself at the computer or using a cell phone, but depends on his secretary to do so.

As to be expected, Mr Hatoyama's tweets are usually very tame. For security reasons, he can't even reveal where he is or where he is going next.

But even though Mr Hatoyama doesn't tweet often – just once or twice a day – he seems to get quite a bit of feedback from tweets addressed to him by ordinary Japanese.

On Jan 31, Mr Hatoyama tweeted: "It's already a month since I started on Twitter. I am delighted to read the comments you all send me. Of course, some of you send me brickbats too. But I will take note of all of them."

By a recent count, about 40 Japanese lawmakers from both the ruling and opposition, and from the national and local governments, are tweeting on a regular basis. That's not a big number certainly, considering that there are 722 lawmakers in both houses of parliament alone.

But those that do tweet are making a bit of a splash.

One of the most prolific tweeters is Mr Ichita Yamamoto, an Upper House member from the opposition Liberal Democratic Party (LDP) who tweets about 50 times a day on average.

Tweeting about a meeting he had with a Singapore diplomat on Tuesday, Mr Yamamoto wrote: "We had a 50-minute discussion. He can really talk! He has an extremely quick mind! But speaking in English really tires me out."

Mr Yamamoto also tweets regularly during meetings that he attends, giving a blow-by-blow account of what’s happening.

Once after such a meeting, reporters rushed up to him and said: "Mr Yamamoto, we already know what happened during the meeting from your tweets. All we need now is your personal comment!"

Many Japanese however seem to be put off by Twitter. The word "tweet" is translated as "tsubuyaki" in Japanese. It is not clear who did the translation but many people agree that it is an unfortunate choice of word.

"Tsubuyaki" means "murmur", as in saying something to oneself in a low voice.

Because of the slightly negative connotations of the word "tsubuyaki", many Japanese have a less than positive image of Twitter.

Last month, opposition leader Sadakazu Tanigaki of the LDP declared that he will never go on Twitter.

"It is not in my character to 'murmur'," he told reporters. "If I have something to say, I want to make my points clearly."

If Mr Tanigaki had bothered to test-drive Twitter, however, he would have discovered – just like the PM and other Japanese politicians – that what people have to say in their tweets is usually far from being a murmur.

Here’s the link for my March 3 article if you should wish to refresh your memory: http://blogs.straitstimes.com/2009/3/3/rice-never-tasted-this-good

When the piece first came out, scores of people from all over wrote to me for details of the cooker that I bought.

But even though the article has long since sunk out of sight from the Straits Times blog page, I still get enquiries every few weeks or so.

Thanks to Google, a search for the "perfect rice cooker" or some such assortment of key words invariably throws up my old blog piece, hence the enquiries.

My very last enquirer even came back to me for more information after he took my advice and went shopping for a cooker. He was such a polite e-mail writer, it was a pleasure corresponding with him.

Coincidentally, the subject of rice cookers came up last week when I was having lunch with a contact and her colleagues.

My contact reminded me that there is a function on most induction heating rice cookers called "hayadaki" in Japanese, or "Quick Cook" in English.

While the regular cooking cycle takes close to 50 minutes on my cooker to complete, "hayadaki" takes just 20-30 minutes. One maker even produces cookers whose "hayadaki" takes just 15 minutes.

The "hayadaki" function seems to me to be intended for people who want to cook their rice in a hurry.

The accepted wisdom here is that "hayadaki" tends to produce rice grains that are slightly too firm in the centre – much like spaghetti cooked al dente – which is not quite the way most Japanese like their rice.

My contact, who is married, said she uses "hayadaki" to cook rice for dinner each evening and it produces excellent rice.

She thinks that it may be because she soaks the rice in the pot before leaving for work every morning.

(As I found out afterwards, the manual for my cooker does advise, in the fine print, to soak rice beforehand when using "hayadaki". But then, how many people read manuals thoroughly?)

"Why don't you set the timer so that the rice will be ready by the time you get home?" I asked, curious.

"The problem," she replied, "is that I don't know exactly what time I or my husband will be home, and we prefer to eat freshly-cooked rice."

So no matter what time she gets home, all she needs to do is press "hayadaki" and rustle up some dishes while waiting for the rice to cook.

She thought her use of "hayadaki" this way was common. But her colleagues were surprised when they heard about it.

To be honest, I was rather sceptical.

So the next day, I tried it myself. I left uncooked rice to soak for several hours in the pot before pushing the "hayadaki" button.

Less than half an hour later, we were eating nicely-formed grains of rice with no unduly firm centres. In fact, the rice tasted almost as good as what we would expect to find at a proper restaurant.

It also felt good to know that this soaking plus "hayadaki" method saved on energy.

Despite all the latest improvements in rice-cooker technology in Japan, the Japanese are still trying to come up with even better cookers.

But at many of the finer Japanese restaurants here, rice is still cooked using an earthenware pot and not a rice cooker.

Much care and experience goes into washing the uncooked grains. Good tasting water is used for the actual cooking. The wood fire is carefully tended to and the heat is lowered at just the right time to make sure the grains puff up properly.

Some restaurants may even have someone whose only job is to cook rice.

When a bowl of such lovingly-prepared rice appears at the table, one is moved to compliment the chef in appropriately hushed tones and then to ask which part of Japan the rice comes from.

And it is on such occasions that one understands anew why rice is served as the last course of a traditional meal in Japan, complimented only by simple pickles and a bowl of miso soup.

After one's taste buds have been assaulted by a multitude of flavours during the course of a meal, a simple bowl of well executed rice somehow makes for a rather satisfying ending.

FOR a long time now, the Singapore Embassy in Tokyo has been holding National Day receptions in early September, rather than on August 9, or close to that official date.

The apparent reason is that because August is particularly hot and muggy in Tokyo, many VIPs tend to escape to cooler climes during this season, leaving their junior officers to attend receptions on their behalf.

So the National Day reception was shifted to early September to ensure that more VIPs will turn up.

In addition to the main reception largely for Japanese and other foreign guests, the embassy also holds a second reception just for Singaporeans and their spouses, at which a videotape of the National Day Parade is played, Singapore food such as chicken rice and laksa is served and everyone is updated on developments back home.

This year's reception for Singaporeans, held last Thursday, saw the participation of some unusual guests – the Singapore contingent to the Asian Youth Para Games which runs from Sep 11-13 in Tokyo.

Together with officials and volunteers, the Singapore team in their red and white uniforms filed into the huge hall to the sound of thunderous applause from the several hundred guests present.

The AYPG is for disabled youths aged 14 to 19 years old from Asian countries who compete in six sports — athletics, boccia, goalball, swimming, table tennis and wheelchair tennis.

The AYPG replaces the FESPIC (Far East and South Pacific) Games for disabled youths that were last held in Hong Kong in 2003.

The Singapore athletes include Benson Tan Eng Kiong, 18, who is taking part in the backstroke, breaststroke and freestyle 100 metre swimming events. So too will Lawrence Tay Wei Siang, who is 15 years old. Sixteen-year-old Fitri bin Amran is taking part in the long jump and the 400 metres race.

Some of the Singapore athletes. From left: Lawrence Tay Wei Siang, 15, Fitri bin Amran, 16 and Benson Tan Eng Kiong, 18. PHOTO: Kwan Weng Kin

To cheer the team on was Senior Parliamentary Secretary for Community Development, Youth and Sports, Mr Teo Ser Luck, himself a well-known sportsman and triathlete.

SPS Teo Ser Luck enjoys talking to some of the Singaporeans who attended the reception. PHOTO: Kwan Weng Kin

Addressing the Singaporeans at the reception, Mr Teo said: "I thought it would be meaningful to include our athletes in this gathering so that they can hear the cheers and encouragement from you all too. It would be a big morale booster for them.

"Because of their physical limitations, they face more barriers than able athletes. I wish them all the best," he added.

He also told the Straits Times that  he had come to Tokyo to see how the Japanese hosts organise the opening ceremony and the logistics.

But Mr Teo had one more thing on his mind that night – finding out how Singaporeans were doing in Japan.

"Everyone has his or her own story to tell," said Mr Teo, after mingling with the guests. "Some have been in Japan for over 20 years but still keep in touch with Singapore."

"But I think some of them do not know who their MPs are," he laughed.

Reiterating an oft-repeated call by the government to Singaporeans abroad not to stay away permanently, Mr Teo first words to the gathering had been: "On behalf of Singapore, we miss you very much!"

Before the laughter had died down, he added: "Make sure you come back, or come back more often!"

Having spoken with the extremely gregarious Mr Teo and watching him in action here, I think many of those present that night would probably want to tell him: "We miss you too!"

APART from the two fortyish women in our group, the rest of the customers were all men, young and old and in various shapes and sizes.

It was Providence that brought me to this "penthouse" bar one recent Sunday night.

A couple of guys – friends of friends – had joined us at the tail-end of a late dinner in Roppongi. After dinner, one of the guys suggested that we all head for "Ni-chome" for a drink.

When the name "Ni-chome" is mentioned in Tokyo among some circles, it can only mean one place – the small enclave on the fringe of the boisterous Shinjuku district that has long been a haven for the gay community, and also increasingly so for straight people looking for some good, clean fun.

"I know just the right place," our self-styled guide said. "It's quiet and the guy who runs it is an ardent movie fan."

He was true to his words.

The bar, perched on the top floor of a nondescript apartment building tucked away in a narrow street, was dimly lit, but not overly so.

The air inside smelt clean as smoking is only permitted on the patio. Some discreetly placed images and literature are the only tell-tale signs that we were in the heart of Ni-chome. Otherwise, the bar could not have been more inviting.

At such establishments, it is perhaps always best to tag along with someone who is a regular as the reception is bound to be better.

Mr Kishida, the boss behind the counter, greeted us as if we were old friends.

Sometime during the night, he told us he had previously worked in the film industry and still watches over 250 movies a year.

This is the guy to ask, I thought to myself, if ever I wanted to do an inside piece on the Japanese film business and its denizens.

Two hours, lots of good conversation and a few drinks later, we were back at ground level, looking for taxis.

A long line of young men were waiting patiently at the entrance to a subterranean café across the road.

"They have very good live performances there," our self-styled guide offered after checking out the queue. "Unfortunately, it looks pretty crowded tonight."

By day, Ni-chome is almost like every other entertainment quarter in Tokyo. By night, however, the place takes on an entirely different character.

About 20 years ago, it had a reputation for being rather dangerous.

"In those days, I didn't dare to walk through Ni-chome on my own," a Japanese friend told me afterwards. "Now, it's so different."

In Ni-chome, besides the usual variety, there are also bars and eateries catering to all manner of sexual tastes and proclivities. Stumble into one that is not quite to one's liking – perhaps gender-wise or age-wise – and it is best to make a quick but polite exit.

Some places, I hear, are as tiny as a bedroom, all the better, I suppose, for the customers to get acquainted with each other!

"Homosexuality has long been a feature of Japanese society," my friend explained. "I won't say that gays suffer no discrimination in Japan, but we Japanese are mostly pretty understanding."

But don't expect to find only men in Ni-chome. In recent years, the place has become a favourite with many straight women as well.

At Ni-chome, both men and women can always find a sympathetic ear from the bartenders who, as in the case of our movie buff Kishida, are generally very good conversationalists as well.

"I enjoy going to Ni-chome several times a year, but not every night," said my friend. "But I'm straight, of course," he added for good measure.

But it is not hard to understand why some people would enjoy being in Ni-chome every night.

For them, the district is an oasis where one can be pretty sure that the people sharing the same space as oneself either have similar interests or harbour no prejudices.

I wonder when Providence will bring me back there again. Maybe next time, I should check it out with my friend.

LEARNING the art of communication from stand-up comics? It could only happen in Japan.

To be sure, stand-up comics have become a powerful force in Japan over the years. Starting with  the "manzai" (stand-up comedy) boom of the 1980s, Japanese stand-up comics have grown to become prominent fixtures in the country's cultural and even political life.

Stand-up comics seem to be everywhere these days. They not only perform their well-rehearsed routines in purpose-built theatres in Osaka and Tokyo, but they also populate variety shows as well as drama programmes on television.

Some comedians have even moved into the political arena, serving in local assemblies as well as the national parliament.

It seems only a matter of time now before one will even appear in a Cabinet line-up.

Yoshimoto Kogyo, an Osaka-based firm blessed with a huge stable of stand-up comedians and considerable marketing know-how, has been largely responsible for making "manzai" a staple of Japanese entertainment.

Manzai has its roots in the Osaka area. The typical manzai team consists of two performers, one in the role of "boke" or funny guy, and the other in the role of "tsukkomi" or straight guy. They trade barbs and jokes at bullet-train speed in the Osaka dialect.

To understand why manzai is so popular, I once spent some time in the early 1990s studying the basics of the Osaka dialect in order to grasp what these stand-up comics were saying. Suffice it to say, that I am now an ardent fan of manzai.

Aspiring manzai teams are made to perform live in small theatres run by Yoshimoto, where their performances are ranked according to how many votes they get from the audience.

The topmost-ranked performers graduate to television shows or the Nanba Grand Kagetsu Hall in Osaka, also run by Yoshimoto, where a slate of the company’s most popular comedians perform throughout the day to packed audiences.

The manzai boom of the 1980s was sparked  after the traditional art form was embraced wholeheartedly by national television.

One of the most popular manzai teams in the 1980s and 1990s was Downtown, whose caustic humour and risqué jokes were lapped up by young Japanese.

In the mid-1990s, Yoshimoto moved aggressively into Tokyo, opening small theatres in the Ginza and Shibuya districts for manzai performances. But they were closed after a few years due to lack of audience.

In 2001, Yoshimoto’s decision to open a theatre in a building right above Tokyo’s crowded Shinjuku Station proved to be a winning one. Fanned by a second manzai boom on television, young Japanese flocked to Yoshimoto’s new theatre.

To date, Yoshimoto has four theatres in Tokyo. It is also a sign that the erstwhile allergy in the capital towards the Osaka dialect has largely receded.

It should be noted that Tokyo too has produced some notable comedians, though they are considerably outnumbered by their Osaka rivals.

Noted film director Takeshi Kitano is also well known to the Japanese as Beat Takeshi, the name he used when he was part of a comedy duo.

At present, the most successful Tokyo comedy pair is undoubtedly Bakusho Mondai, who has proved equally adept at rapid-fire comedy and also at interviewing academics for public television or debating serious social issues on the tube with real lawmakers.

About three years ago, Yoshimoto embarked on a new venture – conducting manzai classes for people interested in learning more about the art form.

Yoshimoto also went on to develop classes for companies and educational institutions, using manzai to help people to learn how to communicate or to speak in front of others.

Students at these classes are paired off and given a rough script to work with. After they have fleshed out their scripts, they are given one minute each to try to get as many laughs as possible from the rest of the class. Communication skills are discussed during the post-mortem session led by a professional manzai team and a senior Yoshimoto writer.

In June, Yoshimoto conducted one of these classes for some 100 young bureaucrats at the Ministry of Land, Infrastructure, Transport and Tourism.

With the public increasingly critical of the bureaucracy for mismanaging the national pension system among other failures, and for wasting taxpayers' money, manzai skills seem to be the last thing that bureaucrats need to acquire at this moment.

Whatever will bureaucrats think of next?

I ALMOST cried when I heard the news. Japanese pianists have won major piano competitions before. But Nobuyuki Tsujii, 20, easily outshines them all.

Blind from birth, Tsujii became the first Asian to win the prestigious Van Cliburn International Piano Competition, the results of which were announced on the competition’s last day on Sunday evening.

The gruelling 17-day-long Van Cliburn, held once every four years in Fort Worth, Texas, is recognized as one of the four most important piano competitions in the world.

The other three are the Leeds (held in Leeds, England), Tchaikovsky (held in Moscow, Russia) and the Chopin (held in Warsaw, Poland).

Tsuji shared the highest honours at the Van Cliburn with 19-year-old Zhang Haochen from China, who is another pianist to watch.

I have in fact been a fan of Tsujii ever since I first saw him on a rare two-hour television documentary five years ago when he was still a teenager in shorts.

I am not generally one to weep in front of the television screen, but I remember tearing up uncontrollably towards the end of the programme when Tsuji visited a school for the blind, at his own request, where he gave a moving rendition of a piano piece for the benefit of the students.

Tsujii, who began studying the piano seriously at the age of four, is currently a third-year student at the Ueno Gakuen College of Music in Tokyo.

Although some piano scores are available in Braille, he learns a new piece strictly by listening to live or recorded versions of the work.

It is human to be moved just by the fact that Tsujii is a musician with a disability. But it is what he has to say through his music that really brings tears to one’s eyes.

For the entire duration of the Van Cliburn competition, Tsujii stayed at the residence of John and Carol Davidson, playing Beethoven, Chopin, Liszt and Debussy on the family grand piano after breakfast each morning.

Mrs Davidson told The Dallas Morning News: “I cry a lot when I hear him play. And when I'm not crying, I feel goose bumps."

It is not surprising that many people have wondered if Tsuji’s blindness worked in his favour, possibly drawing sympathy from the judges at the competition.

But one of the judges, Dr Yoheved Kaplinsky, told the Fort Worth Star-Telegram newspaper that blindness was not an issue.

Said Dr Kaplinsky, who heads the piano department at the famous Juilliard School in New York: “He won based on his playing. We were instructed very clearly to judge him exactly the way we judged everybody else. He himself requested he be judged like everybody else."

Audiences at the competition were reportedly touched to see Tsujii being led out on to the stage by his mother for his solo performances, and by conductor James Conlon for his concerto performances in the final round.

Tsujii reportedly also endeared himself easily to his audience with his big smiles.

It is indeed hard not to like Tsujii, even when he is away from the keyboard.

He told an interviewer that meeting legendary R&B singer Stevie Wonder, who is also blind from birth, “was the happiest moment of my life”.

But winning at the Cliburn “is now the happiest moment”, he added.

Once Tsujii starts playing, one quickly forgets that this incredible pianist cannot see, enabling the listener to concentrate fully on the music.

His performance of Chopin’s first piano concerto in the finals is an outstanding example of his music-making.

But do judge for yourself, for there is nothing more subjective than music. The performances of all the contestants can be viewed at the competition's website.

JAPAN'S convenience stores  became more convenient on Monday.

They are now allowed to sell many types of common over-the-counter (OTC) medicines, such as cold tablets and pain-killers.

This new service is truly a godsend especially for people who need to buy such medicines in a hurry during late-night hours when regular pharmacies are mostly closed.

But not all the seven or so conveniences stores within easy reach of my office will start such sales immediately.

The latest revision in the pharmaceutical retail law stipulates that stores that do so must station sales clerks who are qualified to handle non-prescription medicines and that these clerks must be registered with the local government.

Previously, any convenience store that wanted to sell medicines had to have a qualified pharmacist on hand to advise consumers on such purchases. Little wonder that few convenience stores bothered to offer such products.

But not everyone is happy with the latest drug market deregulation, which by the way, also permits supermarkets and discount retailers the right to sell non-prescription drugs.

For a start, regular pharmacies are rightly worried that their sales will go down given the stiffer competition.

Besides, supermarket giants are expected to spark off a price war as they will lower the prices of OTC medicines by 10-20 per cent in an attempt to beat the convenience stores.

So how are pharmacies fighting back?

The nation's largest pharmacy chain MatsumotoKiyoshi, which has some 650 outlets around the country, plans to increase the number of 24-hour outlets. Other pharmacy chains are considering extending store hours.

Despite the increase in the total number of shops selling OTC medicines, drug manufacturers, however, expect their profits to be trimmed.

Their promotional costs are expected to go up as they have to repackage many of their products for convenience stores.

They figure that folks who patronise convenience stores are likely to be single and therefore will prefer smaller packages of everything that they buy.

But while someone like me living in the big city will appreciate the new ease of buying non-prescription medicines, the revision in the law has left two kinds of consumers out in the cold.

The first are those who have until now been getting their medicinal supplies through the Internet or traditional mail order. From today, such companies will only be able to offer "safe" supplements such as vitamins over cyberspace.

People who have been using the Internet to buy traditional Chinese medicines or herbal products, which are normally not stocked by pharmacies, can now no longer do so.

The government's argument is that there should be face-to-face communication between buyer and seller to ensure that the right medicine is offered and that any side effects are properly explained to the consumer.

Internet firms claim however that they can use the phone or other means to ensure that such information is relayed to the buyer.

The second category of people inconvenienced by the law are those who live in remote places or small islands where there are no convenience stores, let alone pharmacies. They need to get their medicines online.

Acknowledging that it has not resolved these issues properly, the government has decided to grant a two-year reprieve to allow people to buy medicines through the Internet (or through mail order companies) if they had been doing so in the past.

Hopefully, a satisfactory compromise solution will be found before the two years are up.

IN TOKYO

MANY people tend to associate the wearing of face masks with medical personnel working in operating theatres in a hospital.

Or when there is a major public health crisis, such as in the case of the recent outbreak of a new strain of flu in Mexico.

But in Japan, wearing face masks is a year-round thing and no one pays any attention to a masked person.

Recently, some experts in Britain reportedly pooh-poohed the use of face masks to guard against the new flu virus, saying that the masks become porous to the virus when they turn moist after several hours of use.

But the effectiveness of wearing masks has never been an issue in Japan.

To prevent the spread of germs, many Japanese wear a mask when they have a cold or a bad cough out of courtesy to fellow travellers in the nation's jam-packed trains, to passers-by on the crowded streets, and to their colleagues at work.

A mask also helps to keep the nose warm during the cold winter months.

The wearing of masks is particularly common during the spring, when strong winds from the mountains bring pollen to the cities, causing distress to people who suffer from hay fever.

A mask ensures that the wearer does not breathe in the pollen, which causes tearing, a runny nose and general discomfort.

Many foreigners on their first visit to Japan are said to have been unnerved at the sight of Japanese sporting white masks on the streets – until they learn that wearing masks is common and very much part of the social etiquette in this country.

The masks themselves have undergone a transformation in recent years.

The traditional lie-flat variety made of cloth tends to become uncomfortably warm after some use and also plays havoc with a woman's make-up.

In recent years, masks made of a stiff synthetic material that leaves a small gap between the mask and the face have been gaining in popularity, particularly among women fearing for their make-up.

In general of course, the rationale for choosing these more expensive masks is that they offer better protection against pollen and germs than the traditional ones made of soft white cloth.

As part of the government’s action plan to deal with a pandemic, the authorities have prepared millions of face masks for distribution to schools and hospitals in the event of a major outbreak of flu.

But despite the announcement of a suspected case of swine flu in Japan on April 30, and the likelihood that there may be more, there has been no noticeable increase in the use of face masks on the streets.

The Japanese in general seem to have heeded the call by the authorities to stay calm and not over-react.

Incidentally, neither have the Japanese given up eating pork, as the authorities have repeatedly assured the people that heating kills the flu virus.

At my neighbourhood "tonkatsu" restaurant, which features breaded pork cutlet on its menu, the queue at lunch time is just as long as always.