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This is an archive article published on July 19, 2009

Eastern Lights

From Yahiko village to Tokyo city,an ageing country weaves the old with the new

From Yahiko village to Tokyo city,an ageing country weaves the old with the new
Having introduced the marble tombstone as his father’s,Norio Takeishi walked over to a tap next to the 4-m-high iron statue of Shinda,a 16th century Japanese Buddhist monk referred to by the Japanese as a son of the Buddha,filled water in a bucket and poured it over the tomb. “They are thirsty,” Norio said,gesturing to the small cemetery behind one of the biggest Buddhist temples in Yahiko,a village in Niigata prefecture (or state) on Japan’s western coast.

Rural Japan does not lack the technology of the country’s cities. Even houses in the countryside have “super toilets” which fill with water once you sit on them,sprinkle your behind clean when you are done,and blow-dry you for the day ahead. But the veneration for age-old beliefs and traditions persists. A three-day home-stay with Norio Takeishi,a retired environment management consultant,and his wife Yea,a retired schoolteacher,as part of a youth exchange programme was enough to realise this.

Norio and Yea’s house lies across the road from the temple. They awake each morning to the toll of its immense iron bell,religiously rung six times every morning at six. On New Year’s Eve,it starts ringing at 11 pm and continues into the wee hours of the New Year when it finishes its hundred-and-eighth toll — representing the 108 sins an individual must overcome to attain nirvana. Inside the temple stands an exquisite golden shrine with a bronze Buddha in the middle.

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Yahiko village is situated on the foot of Yahiko Mountain,still referred to by the Japanese as Kamino-Oyama or Holy Mountain,where the majestic Yahiko shrine,the biggest Shinto shrine in the prefecture,stands. At the shrine,visitors dropped coins into a wooden box,then bowed twice and clapped twice,offering their prayers to Amenokagoyamano Mikoto ,the mountain god believed to reside beyond the wooden beams and walls and the white paper lanterns. “They pray for wealth,” Norio said,smiling mischievously.

Norio’s agnosticism is common among Japanese,more than 60 per cent of whom profess to have no religion. But their places of worship are maintained well,mostly as tourist sites. Right in the heart of Asakusa,one of Tokyo’s main shopping neighborhoods,is the city’s oldest standing temple,the Senso-ji Temple,whose main hall was built in 645 AD. The temple was burnt down and rebuilt several times,and now,the path between its main gate and the main hall is a bustling alley called Nakamise. It’s filled in the day with tourists browsing through small stalls selling everything from cotton socks and kimonos to sweets and souvenirs. At night,the lit-up temple attracts worshippers,tourists and photographers alike. The stray “salaryman”,eager to practice his English on foreigners,can be seen hanging around till late at night. Elderly women close shop,separating the day’s garbage into paper,plastic,pet bottles and so on.

With almost 20 per cent of the population past the age of retirement,life expectancy at 88 years (most Japanese celebrate with friends and family when they reach this age),and a Japanese mother averaging 1.2 children (the 1950s average was 4.3),Japan is ageing.
It is common to see elderly citizens in all sorts of professions and activities; white-haired men and women backpacking through mountains,cycling along the streets and coming out of karaoke bars late in the evenings.

Care for the aged is provided widely. Yahiko,with a population of just 8,000,has three nursing centres. Not only the elderly,but the mentally and physically handicapped are also high on the government’s priority list. Walk along any street,in a city or a village,and you see yellow plastic lines with elevated dots etched for the visually challenged along sidewalks and zebra crossings. Most lifts have floor numbers written in Braille,and a special panel,placed lower than the normal panel,for those on wheelchairs.
The average Japanese is generally hospitable and respectful. Ask someone for directions and,more often than not,he or she will not only tell you to take left or right,but lead you till the place or a spot from which he or she thinks you will be able to find your way.

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Once closed to the world,Japan now shows an eagerness to accommodate everything and waste nothing. At the waste crushing plant near Niigata city,discarded furniture is fixed and auctioned. The rest are crushed and transported to the dumpsite. At the Shinden Refuse Incineration plant next door,120 tons of combustible un-reusable waste it receives daily is burned,and the generated thermal power used to power the plant. After Minamata — the lethal bout of mercury posioning that broke out in Japan in the late 1950s — and the massive pollution during its industrial growth years,Japan seems intent to make a healthy residence for its citizens. But a lot of the limits on pollution seem to come from society itself.
Over breakfast at our hotel in Tokyo one day,I commented to Kayo Ozawa,one of our programme coordinators,about how quiet the city is at any time of the day. “Do you really think so?” she asked. “Thirty or forty years ago,Japan was very dirty and noisy. But now,we have lots and lots of people,so we do not want to disturb others.”

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