It was something we all grew up with - images of beefy men in skimpy wear barely able to contain all that fat. They evoked a strange mix of awe and horror. As we settled into our viewing box at the Tokyo's Ryogaku Sumo Stadium last September, the feeling was surreal.I thought to myself - it cant get more Japanese than this!Pre match -crowds mill at the entrance to watch wrestlers make their entry into the stadium- almost red carpet fashion. In their 'yukatas' (kimono like cottony gowns) and artistically coiffured hair dos - the complexity of the knot an indication of sumo ranking. The gusto of cheering seems directly proportional to the sumo's status.Some stars , some wannabes.
A bit about the system.The sumo world rests on a strong hierarchial ranking (banzuke') system .The 'yokuzuna' is at the top followed by the ozekis,sekiwakes and the makuuchis. Below them are the lowly life of the sumo world who have yet to make it t
o the top of the 'banzuke' .Top sumos enjoy celebrity status complete with scandals and affairs tagged on.The actual wrestling bout is over in a blink, but the 'rituals' and chanting surrounding it are fascinating. Men (refrees and 'announcers') in elaborate gowns chant long plaintive cries or read out of ornate scrolls. Sumos parade (slow lumbering giants)in heavily embroidered aprons (thousand dollars worth) accompanied by the deep steady beats of a drum. Everything is sombre and sepulchral.As if playing out of a thousand year old rule book no one dared to change.
The day we watch the match (one of a 10 day fest) the stadium is honoured by the presence of Japan's Royal Family - Crown Prince Naruhito,Crown Princess Masako and their daughter Princess Aiko. As they settle in the Imperial Box they are greeted with enthusiasm and adoration. They wave and smile at us lesser 'subjects' .That settled, the tournament begins...Menace hangs heavy in the air as rivals take to the rink before a bout .Wrestlers lumber around the rink, slapping their thighs loudly and sprinkling salt around (purifying the space). After what seems an eternity of slapping and sprinkling - serious business begins...wrestlers thump hard on the rink blowing whiffs of dust ,charge forward, grasp each other,fling or get flung onto the bales (rink made of straw bales)- all over in a jiffy. Match over.More chanting.Dronin
g. Next bout. Same rituals.Match after match sumos fight for their place in the top league. Loud cheers alternating with ritualistic chants- the days proceedings unfold in a fascinating show of strength and drama. At the end of the day spectators applaud in an oddly paradoxical way by throwing pillows in the air - for a brief moment the mood gets flippant.
After its all over, we hop back on our subway train homewards as if snapping out of a dream.Here we were back in the cling and clang of Tokyo's concrete subway holding on to our memories of men in gowns, men in skimpy wear,salt throwing and soulful chants. Images from another world, another era...for now we must remember to get off at the right station...
