I first met Sarah in New York on New Year’s Eve 1977 (I think), when a group of us convened in a vacant lot, dug a pit and lit a fire (it was freezing), and discoursed on art and politics. It was a strange and wonderful and foolish event, and most of the group went their separate ways since then. However, a part of the group, including Sarah and myself, stayed close — indeed, became much closer, almost like family. We spent a lot of time together, celebrating life and sharing each other’s joys and idiosyncrasies.
Sarah was a terrific artist and a wonderful woman, and she had this extremely strange focus on what to me at the time was a bizarre Chinese ritual – Tai Chi. She lived near Chinatown so I figured maybe that’s how she got into it. But I was amazed at the intensity of her discipline — every chance she got, she’d go to a Tai Chi class or a camp or to practise. She even tried to teach me once (or twice) but it never took — I wasn’t really a rules and regulations guy and it seemed much too structured for me.
About ten years ago or so, Sarah died. It was a terrible sadness, but I know that today she’s laughing about it, delighted as she always was. And, a few weeks ago, at a spa in Thailand, I heard her gurgling laugh when I woke up early one morning and went to – you guessed it – a Tai Chi class.
It was amazing. And amazingly difficult. Now, I’m not the most coordinated person in the world (although I can rock ‘n roll till the end of time), and I’m certainly not in any kind of reasonable shape (fat for life is my diet). But, despite these structural limitations, I was shocked at how poorly I fared at this seemingly simple set of movements. And how tired I was at the end of 50 minutes.
Exhausted, I watched the Chinese instructor go through the moves with such supremely simple elegance that made it look like an Oriental ballet (I know, I know, my Westernised slip is showing). And, then, suddenly, I had a revelation.
The instructor had explained that Tai Chi is about focus and purposefulness. All I had felt was ponderous and somewhat foolish — pushing the air with one hand, as if you were pushing an adversary away, and pulling it back with the other to reposition yourself to attack. But, watching him I realised that with regular, continuous and frequent Tai Chi practice – like Sarah – all your movements and, in time, all your activities would become more focused and purposeful till, as a Tai Chi master, you could dance on a pin without any effort.
And the revelation I had was that Tai Chi – deeply rooted in the Chinese psyche – was doubtless a large part of why the Chinese have been able to plan and execute economic development with such an unwavering focus.
Many – perhaps, most – Chinese practise Tai Chi daily. I recall seeing pictures as far back as in Life magazine of hundreds of Chinese people doing Tai Chi in various gardens every morning; it is still a common sight in most Chinese cities, including Hong Kong. No wonder then that the country – and, here, I mean not just the government, but the people as well – functions with such undivided focus. Look at how it has lifted hundreds of millions of people out of poverty, without worrying about niceties like labour practices or currency markets; look at the way it has built its infrastructure, or the way it is single-mindedly building its resource base in Africa and elsewhere. No doubt, the political system helps, but it could well be that the culture and ethos of the Chinese people (encapsulated in Tai Chi) predispose them to such a political system, which abjures (relatively speaking) personal aggrandisement for collective achievement.
The only other country that I can think of that operates with the kind of single-mindedness as the Chinese is Singapore, which, again, is largely Chinese-driven. Indeed, Singapore has taken central planning to a whole different level. A senior banker told me that when he wanted to plant trees as part of his corporate social responsibility effort, he was instructed: you will have to pay 200 dollars per tree and plant them here [a specific location], since this is where our orchards will be 50 years from now. It would seem that the Singapore government has – and implements – a 50-year rolling development plan.
Amazing, and a little bit frightening to an “aal is well” Indian like me. I guess I better start Tai Chi classes soon — at least it will keep me remembering Sarah.
