A Football Crowd, A Toffee and A Traffic Signal

Football World Cup time and everything around you is Messi, Ronaldo, Mbappé, cheers, tears, shouts and celebrations. Amidst all this din, one small news item suddenly caught my attention.

It was about the way Japanese football fans celebrated.

Their definition of fandom and frenzy seemed unique. Videos showed fans pouring onto the busy Shibuya Crossing after a match, cheering, singing and celebrating with unbridled joy. But there was one detail that stood out. The celebrations happened only when the traffic signal was red for vehicles. The moment the signal turned green, it was as if someone had flipped a switch. The crowd quietened, stepped back into the pedestrian zones and allowed traffic to pass unhindered. People heading to work, meetings or other commitments continued their journeys without disruption.

That tiny news item stayed with me.

It sent me reeling down memory lane, about four or five years back.

I remembered a four-year-old creating a ruckus in a supermarket because he could not get the chocolate he wanted. He started pushing things off the racks while his mother stood quietly and watched. Before anyone could intervene, the child had emptied items from eight different shelves.

Just then, a supermarket attendant stepped forward and tried to pacify him. To my surprise, the mother got upset with the attendant and vented her frustration at the lady as though the employee was somehow responsible for the entire episode.

Without offering to help put things back or apologising for the inconvenience caused, she simply walked away with her child, as though the supermarket was an extension of her own home.

Then I thought of another recent news report that had made the rounds. A group of tourists performed Garba on the observation deck of the Burj Khalifa. Many people enjoyed the cultural expression, but others questioned whether a crowded international landmark was the right place for a dance performance. The debate wasn't really about Garba. It was about awareness of context and shared space.

Around the same time, there was another news item about a Swiss hotel that had put up a notice specifically for Indian guests, reminding them not to carry food away from the breakfast buffet, to use the cutlery provided and to maintain quiet in common areas. It raised uncomfortable questions about how Indian tourists are perceived and how our behaviour shapes that perception.

More recently, I came across a viral video of an influencer recording a fashion reel on a busy pavement. When a pedestrian accidentally walked into the frame, the passerby was reprimanded for lacking "civic sense".

Did you catch the irony there?  The internet certainly did.

A public sidewalk had suddenly become someone's personal studio. The question was no longer about who was right. It was about something deeper.

When did we start believing that every shared space revolves around us?

Different incidents. Different people. Different places.

Yet they all seemed to point towards the same thing.

The truth is, we don't have to travel halfway across the world to see this. I have seen versions of the same behaviour much closer to home—a grandmother who left a children's play area littered with food, a pet owner who does not clear up after their pet on the walkway, residents who confuse having a voice with having the last word, and parents who believe public spaces should accommodate every whim of their child.

What exactly has happened to our understanding of freedom?

Somewhere along the way, we seem to have confused freedom with the right to do whatever we please.

Yes, we have the freedom to speak, act, celebrate and express ourselves. But freedom also comes with responsibility.

The freedom to say what we want comes with the responsibility of not hurting others.

The freedom to celebrate comes with the responsibility not to inconvenience others.

The freedom to occupy a space comes with the responsibility to remember that it is a shared space.

The opposite of freedom is not restriction.

The opposite of freedom is selfishness.

Freedom and responsibility are meant to travel together.

But how do we learn that balance? How do we learn to be aware of ourselves without forgetting the people around us?

During one of my Calmversation Camps, I introduced the children to a Korean concept called Noonchi—the ability to read the room using your eyes, ears and heart.

As I explained it to the children, I realised that this was not really a new idea at all. Many of us grew up with it. 

We called it consideration. Or empathy. Or simply good manners.

Somewhere along the way, we seem to have misplaced it.

Just then, my phone decided to add its own soundtrack to these reflections. Notification after notification lit up the screen. The residents' WhatsApp group was in full election mode. Community elections were around the corner, and everyone seemed to have an opinion about everyone else.

In the middle of all the noise, one resident posted a simple message:

"Why are we losing empathy for one another?"

That question stayed with me.

A little later, I heard another commotion outside my house. This time, it was a group of children playing the old-fashioned game of Red Light, Green Light.

When the red light was on, everyone froze. When the green light appeared, they ran towards their goal.

Simple rules. Simple fun. Yet hidden inside that little game is a lesson many adults seem to have forgotten.

Move forward when it is your turn. Pause when it is not.

Express yourself when the moment calls for it. Step back when others need space.

Freedom with responsibility. Perhaps that is what makes the game work. And perhaps that is what makes society work, too.

Maybe it is time for us adults to play Red Light, Green Light again. 

Not because the children need the lesson. Because we do.

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"கண்ணோட்டம் என்னும் கழிபெருங் காரிகை
உண்மையான் உண்டிவ் வுலகு."

(The world survives because people possess consideration for one another.)