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Today’s China may fall short of romantic portrayals, but still has timeless charms
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I fell in love with China after reading “The Good Earth” by Pearl S.Buck. This epic story portrayed the life of a poor Chinese farmer, Wang Lung, who gloried in the soil he worked and cherished his land above everything else.
This classic not only made me aware of daily life in rural China in the early 20th century, it also made me an ardent fan of Buck’s writing. My next mission was to hunt and read all of her books — and many more on Chinese history and culture.
I lived and breathed the imperial court system, the feudal village lords, the snow white concubines, the great famines and became a sort of a commentator for the naive but inquisitive residents of my small town. Those days we didn’t have TV and whatever news from across the world had to be absorbed from newspapers, books and word-of-mouth.
Nevertheless, most of my fellow townfolk knew one thing about China: it was a land filled with bicycles. Even my dad, who was a general physician, became a great advocate of bicycles. He would tell his patients to either walk or use bicycles for healthy growth and whenever I insisted he buy a car, he would point his finger in one direction and say, “look at China, everybody there uses bicycles and see how they are prospering.”
The next dose of Chinese influence in my town came from martial art movies. First arrived “The 36th Chamber of Shaolin,” followed by “Enter the Dragon,” “Karate Kid,” “Armour of God” and “Police Story” series which made icons of Bruce Lee and Jackie Chan. For the first time we were seeing men clad in silk robes performing kung fu, pretty little women tiptoeing in their colorful qipaos and spouting poems, the bright red lanterns hanging along the old lanes of an ancient water village — and suddenly all the stories we had heard and imagined began to come alive.
However, after Buck’s classics, the story about China that touched me the most was that of the last Emperor, Pu Yi. In the last phase of his life, Pu lived like a commoner.
I finally got to set foot on Chinese soil in the autumn of 2008. My heart fluttered like a butterfly as I stepped out of the airport in Shanghai and for one moment, I shut my eyes to recollect all the stories I had read about this amazing land.
However, my expectations were soon to come crashing down like a house of cards. The China depicted in “The Good Earth” no longer exists.
Where’s my ancient China?
Driving away from the airport, all I could see were modern buildings and skyscrapers, overhead bridges and underground tunnels. A tiled roof was visible here and there, but shopping malls vastly outnumbered courtyard houses. Wang Lung no longer tilled his land, nor did Peony tiptoe around in her qipao. Bicycles were replaced by high-end cars zooming down six lane roads.
Sensing my agitation, the guide who had accompanied me from the airport gave a broad smile and promised he would show me the China of the past very soon. The next morning he took me to Zhujiajiao and said: “Here, you will find your ancient China, Madam.”
As I entered the water village, I felt like I was stepping into a movie set. The central canal was bordered with houses that had porticos converted into restaurants and souvenir shops. Boats sailed up and down, transporting cacophonous tourists. Plastic red lanterns hung in place of the traditional paper ones. A few ladies dressed in qipaos, and a few men dressed like peasants carried ploughs and bamboo baskets, all ready to pose for selfies. And finally when I spotted a “beggar” in whiskers and thought that he must be genuine, he turned out to be a make-up artist and demanded a fee for displaying his talent.
Nevertheless, three years later when I got a second chance to come to China — this time as a resident of Shanghai — I began to view the country with a new perspective.
The multi-storied buildings and skyscrapers, overhead bridges and underground tunnels, no longer looked like an odd matrix of concrete. When it came to choosing between an old lane house in downtown Puxi and a high rise apartment in modern Pudong, I settled for the latter.
It may seem rather surprising that I began to look past Buck’s writing and appreciate the modern face of China instead. The country had indeed come a long way since Pearl’s time.
I finally discovered it
I also began reading books by various contemporary Chinese authors (translated versions of course) and watched many movies by Zhang Yimou and other Chinese directors. Then, I began traveling the length and breadth of the country and noticed many aspects I had read about and seen in the movies.
I finally discovered my ancient China in the villages of Huizhou, the tea houses of Sichuan, the rice terraces of Longsheng, the nomadic tribes of Yunnan, the gardens of Suzhou, the beauties of Jinling, the grottoes of Henan, the earthen round-houses of Yongding.
It has been four years since all the explorations. I have enjoyed every moment of it — only that I am a little perplexed by people’s obsession with selfies. Each time I take a walk down the Bund I see people pushing and shoving each other to get the right spot to pose for a selfie and, once that spot is secured, it is not one shot but a hundred and one pictures taken in different postures and stances.
I always move a hundred meters away from the crisscrossing selfie sticks. And from where I stand, all that’s audible is the gentle bubbling of the waters and the honk of barges as they slip past by.
This probably is the best part of my stay in Shanghai — to be able to stand next to the Huang Pu River and watch the array of boats go up and down her generous bosom.
Years ago, reading “The Good Earth” opened a window to China and made me fall in love with her. Years later, living on this good earth has made me fall in love with her all over again.
The author is a freelancer from India.
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