The idea of seeing a cloak of pink and white cherry blossoms (sakura) envelope the city and countryside was the reason I travelled to Tokyo this April. When I landed I heard that the famous sakura had come and gone a week ago. The few remaining trees were reminders of their ravishingly beautiful flowers.
For centuries, the Japanese have picnicked under heavy-laden sakura branches, extolling their loveliness in painting and poetry. The flower symbolises the beauty of life while reminding us how tragically short it is. I’m wondering whether the saying ‘ Chaar din ki chaandni …’ could be seen as a distant cousin to this idea? Although the proverb does not allude directly to the beauty of life, it nonetheless describes happiness, like the cherry blossom, as something short-lived.
It was essentially Japanese cinema that first drew me to this amazing country. The films of Yasujirō Ozu, Kenji Mizoguchi and Akira Kurosawa were the windows into a world of refinement and restrained emotion. It is not a surprise that Ozu’s Tokyo Story was voted in 2012 as the best film of all time in a filmmakers’ poll featured in Sight and Sound magazine.
Although the Japan of these old masters is no longer visible on the streets of Tokyo, the impression those films made on me has not diminished. So I wanted to pay my respects at the graves of two extraordinary artists, Ozu and Kurosawa. Kurosawa who died in 1998 at the age of 88 is buried in the Anyo-In Temple Cemetery in Kamakura, about an hour from Tokyo. The temple attendant informed us over phone that no visitors were allowed as the endless stream of Kurosawa fans had made repairs to his gravestone urgent.
Grave moments
There was still Ozu’s graveside to visit. My old friend Yoshi Tobari agreed to take me to Kita-Kamakura to the Engaku-ji Temple where Ozu is buried. Across the road from the quiet little station is the exquisite temple. No signs indicated where we needed to go in the vast temple grounds. Thankfully, a young man dressed in traditional clothes pointed us in the right direction. His every gesture exuded a politeness that one rarely encounters anywhere else in the world.
A walk up a small slope on the tree-lined path took us to Ozu’s peaceful and discreet burial place. I was a little surprised to find brandy, whisky and sake bottles and even beer cars lined up in a neat row near his gravestone. Yoshi told that it is customary to leave offerings that the deceased enjoyed. It is also believed that most filmmakers love alcohol, so a drink is welcome in the afterlife.
My other Tokyo guide and friend was Tamaki Matsuoka. She is among those dedicated people around the world who are serious lovers of Indian cinema, and she has been one for over 30 years. They silently promote Indian films abroad through writing or by organising film festivals.
Tamaki explained that it was her desire to learn Hindi in the early 1970s (she speaks it fluently) that opened the doors to Indian cinema. By the mid-70s, she was showing films in small and large numbers, wherever and whenever she could. I asked about Rajinikanth’s Muthu . Yes, the film went houseful for six months in Tokyo. The big draw was the music and, according to Tamaki, Rajinikanth’s stylish personality was a winner. In his performance, Japanese admirers saw a touch of their own Kabuki — a classical Japanese dance-drama form.
Other Rajinikanth films did not enjoy the same success. Some years later, 3 Idiots , and more recently, Baahubali 2 , won back the devoted Japanese fans. This is not to imply that Indian cinema has a large Japanese audience — it is only a few films that make a big impact.
Timely influences
During my first trip to Tokyo in 2000, I was invited by Kenji Ishizaka of the Japan Foundation to introduce Guru Dutt’s films in a retrospective because of my extensive work on this exceptional director. Even though time was short, I was keen to see Kenji-san again. He is now the Dean of the Japan Institute of the Moving Image, the only film school in Tokyo where theory and practice are taught. Kenji-san also hosted A.R. Rahman when he came here to receive the prestigious Fukuoka Prize in 2016. He found in Rahman a very down-to-earth and charming person who was open and friendly with all his Japanese fans who came from all over the country.
Kenji-san added with a smile that the Fukuoka Prize ceremony is usually a sedate affair and the flood of people who came to see Rahman surprised everyone.
Saying our goodbyes to Kenji-san, Tamaki and I walked across the street into a vast mall — and on the multiplex cinema floor, the posters of Aamir Khan’s Dangal were displayed. The film happened to be released that very day Friday, April 6.
Just before I boarded my flight at Narita airport, I bought Haruki Murakami’s magically visual tale, After Dark . I wasn’t ready to let the experience of Japan fade too fast.
The London-based writer is a documentary filmmaker and author of several books on Hindi cinema.
