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Tale of two cities
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Once Chennai was the last word in dignity and culture. Today, these are the forgotten concepts of an age gone by. Yet, Tokyo has managed to retain these very qualities that embellished Chennai. GAUTAMAN BHASKARAN compares the two cities.
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CHARLES DICKENS once immortalised London and Paris. I wish I could, Chennai and Tokyo, separated not by a channel but by a flying time of almost ten hours. More important, by a culture that is as starkly different as black and white.
I am neither an authority on Chennai nor on Tokyo, but having lived in the heart of Tamil Nadu for 18 years and for six months in Japan's capital city, I can pen some observations, made through the eye and the ear, trained as they have been by long years in journalism.
Coming back home after half a year, I found a welcome irritatingly cheerless. As I walked through the Green Channel — having nothing but my books and research papers to declare — a man in spotless white appeared next to my car, demanding that I pay him a "baksheesh'' for my fortune of having been "allowed'' to sail past the Customs!
Comparisons, they say, are odious, but being human in every sense of the term, I cannot but help talking about my landing at Tokyo's Narita Airport. As I carted my luggage to a limousine bus to the city, 66 km away, I found that I had forgotten to buy a ticket. Never mind, said the conductor, who placed my bags in the vehicle, took me inside the terminal, and helped me get a ticket. When I got to my destination, well, I found the suitcases intact.
In fact, Tokyo — nay most of Japan, barring perhaps Osaka, notorious for its bag snatchers — is still, in this day and age, a very safe city. I remember meeting a group of students from Tokyo's renowned Sophia University. When I asked them, what they liked best about their country, a girl said without hesitation "safety''. The others agreed.
Ask any girl in Chennai, she would say that despite its visible population of policemen (and now policewomen too) this is one of the most unsafe places for her and her ilk.
One of the things that struck me while I lived in Tokyo was the virtual "absence'' of cops. They were never to be seen. Yet, at the slightest hint of trouble, policemen would be swarming all over. I am still trying to figure out how this happens, used as I am to seeing the men in uniform at every street corner who look the other way when they smell anything out of the ordinary.
Talk to any two-wheeler rider or truck driver, he would tell you the kind of harassment one faces from the police on the roads of Chennai. No man or woman I spoke to in Tokyo — and elsewhere in Japan — ever complained to me about their police, which is usually considered fair and polite.
Indeed, this is part of the great Japanese society, which believes in harmony, which makes it a point to remove just about every irritant in the way of a citizen.
Honestly, if one were to ask me what I enjoyed best in Tokyo, I would say peace and tranquillity. I never felt irritated, never lost my cool even once during those six months. There was just no cause for it. This despite Tokyo's population of almost 13 million people. Chennai has just about half of that. Yet, I never felt the crowds. Nobody ever jostled me. Nobody stamped my foot.
The average Japanese is well known for his or her tolerance and consideration: they would give you a few more inches of their space if you share a seat with them in a bus or a train. They would step aside to give you way on the pavement. They would welcome you with the sweetest of smiles when you enter a restaurant or a shop. They are genuinely happy when you eat there or buy something from them, and they are deeply sorry when they cannot give you what you want. The pain shows on their face.
To an Indian, it can be embarrassing to see these qualities, used to as he is to being shoved aside, pushed about.
Walk into a shop in Chennai selling, for instance computers and other accessories, manned by smart looking guys wearing flashy ties. The veneer of sophistication disappears the moment you show a disinclination to buy their products or draw their attention to more competitive prices next door. They can be depressingly rude, throwing to the winds even a pretence of civility.
I am not saying that the Japanese never pretend. I am sure they do. But, all said and done, it is a far, far more transparent society than ours. It is a far, far less pretentious race than mine.
Sitting the other evening at the Music Academy waiting for a British theatrical performance, I almost felt like an alien in the crowd. I felt distinctly uncomfortable. I could not stop wondering why these men and women, intelligent, accomplished and beautiful, were sounding so hypocritical, so artificial. Each was on his or her own trip: they were trying to make points they just did not believe in. They were working hard to impress, and ending up saying the most foolish, the most stupid things one could ever say.
Driving back home that night, I was troubled by what I had seen. It took me a while to find the head of the nail. I think people, especially in Chennai, have lost their humility. It can be an autorickshaw driver, it can be an artiste, it can be a corporate executive. They all sport a disturbing sign of arrogance, completely absent in Tokyo, Japan itself.
In Japan's literally classless society, a certain warmth and humbleness pervades. A company president comes down to the lobby to meet me. He walks with me to a subway station, boards the same train and sits besides me.
Actor Takeshi Kitano is considered a living god in Japan, but when I met him for an hour-long interview, I was completely bowled over by his simplicity and his modesty. He was honest, frank and never gave me the impression, even once, that he was more important than me.
Try approaching A, B or C in Chennai's film circle, you would run into rock and granite. If you can get past their personal assistants, consider yourself lucky. If you get around actually meeting a star, you can be sure you have been twice blessed. And then be prepared for a lecture about themselves, a lesson in immodesty.
Yet, Chennai was once known for its wonderful culture, its pleasing mannerisms. Today, all that I can see is a façade, which hides ugly truths. Tokyo may have a facade as well, one that keeps away from our gaze a certain marvellous culture. Call it shyness. Call it virtue. But it sure did tug at my heartstrings.
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