The Finger Tap

Set on a quiet street in Jing’an district, Shanghai, is a 1930s French style apartment, converted recently into a quaint teahouse. My friend Zhang sits across from me, and as I pour him tea, he taps his forefinger on the table – an action that I learn is full of history. Zhang’s other hand holds his iPhone and checks his feed on WeChat (China’s most popular media/communication platform). I see Zhang’s actions representing a common juxtaposition of old and new in China; one part of him is using one of the world’s most modern apps, while the other part is continuing a centuries old Chinese custom. While this separation within himself may seem irrelevant, it has substantial inherent cultural importance.

Since Deng Xiaoping re-opened China to Western markets in the 1980s, it has been assimilating to modern foreign trends at an unprecedented speed. Most large Chinese cities now parallel Western counterparts, where pop culture and a capitalist drive dominate. Chinese youth, not dissimilar to the others around the world, are often more interested in their iPhones than the traditions of old. Nowadays, when we see cultural preservation in China, it is commonly adopted to fit modern mindsets in the form of a traditional theme park. Many cities have built old towns to show off the history that once filled the streets, but these locations are usually kitschy misrepresentations in order to feed tourism. As the genuine old is often bull-dowsed for an arguably uniform future, customs such as the finger tap remain some of the strongest indicators of one of the world’s richest histories.

The origin of the finger tap date back to the 18th century, a time referred to as a “Golden Age” of Chinese history.  Emperor Qianlong was out on a voyage where discretion was needed, so he travelled in disguise. When he and his company arrived at a teahouse, he preformed an uncustomary act of pouring tea for his servant, as to keep his identity and rank secret. The servant, who would usually kowtow (a traditional full bow to the floor), inconspicuously curled his index and middle finger on the table, and rolled them back and forth. This gesture grew to be the universal sign of showing thanks for someone pouring you tea. Fast forward to today, and we can see that the finger rolling action has evolved simply into a tap.    

Throughout China, this story became common knowledge. When asking people now, however, many do not know its beginnings but just tap their finger because their parents instructed them to.  In some areas, the action has altered. I’ve heard of people using finger tapping to convey messages of their relationship status; a single finger tap indicates the person is, well, single… and a committed relationship is demonstrated with two fingers. I’ve even heard tell that a three-finger tap used to demonstrate that the individual is unhappy in their current relationship and seeking a new lover. The action has also become a generational divide, some saying that the younger generation will only use one finger; their parents, two.

When asked, much of the younger Chinese population will praise their traditional culture, yet decreasingly want to study or express interest in continuing these older arts and practices. That being said, tradition is still constant in small actions found in day-to-day life. These customs are simply expected to be understood and have become social norms. But as the race to modernize overshadows cities, how much longer will these standards last.  At what point will new developments and trends overshadow them? If I pour tea for my friend Zhang in twenty years will he still tap his finger? Will his child?

I am a romantic. The traditional historical remains are what initially sparked my interests in China. Coming from the West, it was Hollywood, history books and media that shaped my views. One can still see the broadcasted images of the past, but China is constantly changing.

The cultural contrast of old and new embodies what I see daily. Despite living in Shanghai, one of the world’s most modern and largest cities, the traditions and customs have deep roots. These layers are so abundant that it is hopeless for me to be expected to learn and adapt to all of them. So even as China continues to develop, I, just like my friend Zhang, still always tap my finger when treated to tea.