No he wasn’t my brother….
Neither my neighbor (oh I wish I cud see his chimpanzee)…..
Nor my friend. I am not even remotely related with him His black skin was whiter than mine, till he breathed his last!
But in some strange way he was linked with my life. He was a special friend I made during my teenage years.
Neither my neighbor (oh I wish I cud see his chimpanzee)…..
Nor my friend. I am not even remotely related with him His black skin was whiter than mine, till he breathed his last!
But in some strange way he was linked with my life. He was a special friend I made during my teenage years.
2009, 26th June 09, 2.30 p.m. .........
My husband suddenly called out my name…
“He is dead….”
“Who?” I asked……….
There was a silence for a minute and then he uttered …..
“Michael….Michael Jackson”.
It really didn’t stir any feelings immediately as my three ounce brain couldn’t process the news and generate a view quickly.
I sat down and watched what the news reader on NDTV was describing as an end of an era. Though I was quietly watching, something inside me got stirred, something was making me uncomfortable. WAS I SUCH A GREAT FAN OF HIS THAT I WAS PERTURBED BY HIS SUDDEN DEMISE? I couldn’t decide for a moment.
But something inside me forced me to reach out to my old school friends in Calcutta, to share the news and I realized I wasn’t in touch with them perhaps over four years or may be more. WHY DID I FEEL LIKE SHARING THE NEWS WITH PEOPLE WHOM I HAVE NOT SEEN FOR SO LONG?
I sent an sms to my childhood friend Usha, whom I knew since my diaper days (sorry no Huggies at that time, it was age old cotton cloth) and I wrote on sms,
MJ Dies
Music dies
And my childhood memory dies with MJ
I mourn with the world….
Within a few minutes the sms was reciprocated….AND I HAD MY CONFUSION CLEARED.
Like a sudden flash of light all the memory of the easter years came back rushing. I knew it was not MJ’s death that made me uncomfortable. It was the memory of my child hood days that ended with him for which I grew restless.
1983…..
MJ first hit the music world in. I was in 7th standard then. While playing at my friend’s house I heard his voice singing the song “Beat it “for the first time. His voice sounded so different from the generation that prevailed the pop and rock world before him. It was a way apart from the melodious music of the Beatles or Frank Sinatra. What I could hear from afar, was a girl shouting in dismay in her shrilly voice, crooning as if she was being beaten up by goon. I could make out only two words “Beat it …Beat it” the sound was coming out from a Phillips tape recorder. The mono sound quality had obviously taken away the beauty of his magical voice. I asked my friend who was it and she rolled her eyes in disbelief at my ignorance. That was my first introduction to Michael. Then onward a new phase of my life began. I kept no stone unturned to transform my self into his ideal fan else I might look fool among my hip friends. Whether I understood what he was singing (the music too loud to make out the lyrics) or not I had to speak the language that the new breed were growing fond of.
Later on I forced my father to buy an album of his first big hit “Thriller” (I had my copy too in the 29 millions sold) I would keep on shouting “Beat it …beat it” nonchalantly till I got on the nerve of the family members who would rather beat me up for torturing them with my hip hop music than listen to some American pop idol that too crooning in a female voice. (Their version...)
My world was changing. It was no more Lenon and Elvis, my father’s favorites, or my mother’s favorite song by Ashaji and Lataji that would fill up our leisure. My growing consciousness about the right to choose made its place in the family and they had to give into my preferences. I was learning new language of a new generation whose obvious motto was to say “damn the world…who cares…..I am bad” and would do whatever they feel like. It was the language of breaking rules and enjoying freedom.
“Show them how funky is your fight it doesn’t matter who is wrong or right just beat it”
And yes that was exactly what the generation 80’ was hailing to do. Michael Jackson wasn’t a singer only to be reckoned with immense potential but he was a lifestyle personified. His moon walking and his weird hairdo would send the girls crazy.
To look hip and to join the band I subscribed to Sun magazine’s fortnightly issue to get the icon’s blow up which adorned my wall along side Imran khan’s poster (my lost love) and which replaced Paul McCartney’s fatherly chubby face. His black eyes would stare at night; his shinning black skin looked wet in the dark. And his Oh, so kissable square chin! (He still looked male).
My dream world was complete. I would spend hours to mug up the lyrics from the supplementary song book distributed with Sun magazine (I would have been an IPS if had worked half as hard on my course books). His attraction was unsullied.
I remember I fell in love with Sir Paul’s chubby face when I saw him singing in the rain hanging out from merry- go- round, while doing a soulful number. But Michael was the villain to put the break in our father daughter relationship (I was 12 years old when I saw Paul’s face in the video and he was perhaps fifty ...Bingo!!) Slowly Michael’s boyish charm and vibrant power packed music replaced the soulful Paul and Cliff Richard.
7th Feb. 1984….
Michael won 7 Grammy awards out of staggering twelve nominations in various categories. That night my cousin, my mashi’s elder son died in a Calcutta hospital after a brain surgery. An evening before, I had promised my cousin (to take his mind off from the excruciating pain that he was suffering from) that I would take him home to watch the award ceremony .He wasn’t fortunate enough that night. It was Michael’s night all the way when history was created. When his fans were celebrating his achievement, my family was mourning my cousin’s death. A confused me would often pray to end the agony days so that I could go back to my dream world as reality was too harsh.
“He is dead….”
“Who?” I asked……….
There was a silence for a minute and then he uttered …..
“Michael….Michael Jackson”.
It really didn’t stir any feelings immediately as my three ounce brain couldn’t process the news and generate a view quickly.
I sat down and watched what the news reader on NDTV was describing as an end of an era. Though I was quietly watching, something inside me got stirred, something was making me uncomfortable. WAS I SUCH A GREAT FAN OF HIS THAT I WAS PERTURBED BY HIS SUDDEN DEMISE? I couldn’t decide for a moment.
But something inside me forced me to reach out to my old school friends in Calcutta, to share the news and I realized I wasn’t in touch with them perhaps over four years or may be more. WHY DID I FEEL LIKE SHARING THE NEWS WITH PEOPLE WHOM I HAVE NOT SEEN FOR SO LONG?
I sent an sms to my childhood friend Usha, whom I knew since my diaper days (sorry no Huggies at that time, it was age old cotton cloth) and I wrote on sms,
MJ Dies
Music dies
And my childhood memory dies with MJ
I mourn with the world….
Within a few minutes the sms was reciprocated….AND I HAD MY CONFUSION CLEARED.
Like a sudden flash of light all the memory of the easter years came back rushing. I knew it was not MJ’s death that made me uncomfortable. It was the memory of my child hood days that ended with him for which I grew restless.
1983…..
MJ first hit the music world in. I was in 7th standard then. While playing at my friend’s house I heard his voice singing the song “Beat it “for the first time. His voice sounded so different from the generation that prevailed the pop and rock world before him. It was a way apart from the melodious music of the Beatles or Frank Sinatra. What I could hear from afar, was a girl shouting in dismay in her shrilly voice, crooning as if she was being beaten up by goon. I could make out only two words “Beat it …Beat it” the sound was coming out from a Phillips tape recorder. The mono sound quality had obviously taken away the beauty of his magical voice. I asked my friend who was it and she rolled her eyes in disbelief at my ignorance. That was my first introduction to Michael. Then onward a new phase of my life began. I kept no stone unturned to transform my self into his ideal fan else I might look fool among my hip friends. Whether I understood what he was singing (the music too loud to make out the lyrics) or not I had to speak the language that the new breed were growing fond of.
Later on I forced my father to buy an album of his first big hit “Thriller” (I had my copy too in the 29 millions sold) I would keep on shouting “Beat it …beat it” nonchalantly till I got on the nerve of the family members who would rather beat me up for torturing them with my hip hop music than listen to some American pop idol that too crooning in a female voice. (Their version...)
My world was changing. It was no more Lenon and Elvis, my father’s favorites, or my mother’s favorite song by Ashaji and Lataji that would fill up our leisure. My growing consciousness about the right to choose made its place in the family and they had to give into my preferences. I was learning new language of a new generation whose obvious motto was to say “damn the world…who cares…..I am bad” and would do whatever they feel like. It was the language of breaking rules and enjoying freedom.
“Show them how funky is your fight it doesn’t matter who is wrong or right just beat it”
And yes that was exactly what the generation 80’ was hailing to do. Michael Jackson wasn’t a singer only to be reckoned with immense potential but he was a lifestyle personified. His moon walking and his weird hairdo would send the girls crazy.
To look hip and to join the band I subscribed to Sun magazine’s fortnightly issue to get the icon’s blow up which adorned my wall along side Imran khan’s poster (my lost love) and which replaced Paul McCartney’s fatherly chubby face. His black eyes would stare at night; his shinning black skin looked wet in the dark. And his Oh, so kissable square chin! (He still looked male).
My dream world was complete. I would spend hours to mug up the lyrics from the supplementary song book distributed with Sun magazine (I would have been an IPS if had worked half as hard on my course books). His attraction was unsullied.
I remember I fell in love with Sir Paul’s chubby face when I saw him singing in the rain hanging out from merry- go- round, while doing a soulful number. But Michael was the villain to put the break in our father daughter relationship (I was 12 years old when I saw Paul’s face in the video and he was perhaps fifty ...Bingo!!) Slowly Michael’s boyish charm and vibrant power packed music replaced the soulful Paul and Cliff Richard.
7th Feb. 1984….
Michael won 7 Grammy awards out of staggering twelve nominations in various categories. That night my cousin, my mashi’s elder son died in a Calcutta hospital after a brain surgery. An evening before, I had promised my cousin (to take his mind off from the excruciating pain that he was suffering from) that I would take him home to watch the award ceremony .He wasn’t fortunate enough that night. It was Michael’s night all the way when history was created. When his fans were celebrating his achievement, my family was mourning my cousin’s death. A confused me would often pray to end the agony days so that I could go back to my dream world as reality was too harsh.
1987 .....
We changed our residence and were shifted to a new area; away form my old friends and neighbors. My only medium of communication with them was through the big black telephones (pre mobile era) and even if we ever come together, our topic of discussions would be about his recent album’s. We would often got hold of the fungus covered overplayed video cassettes from a nearby parlor and watch together, we would throw cushions when it would refuse to wind or rewind to unwind our studious mind (always last benchers).I still couldn’t understand what he was singing till I mugged up the lyrics, but that would not stop me from enjoying his extraordinary videos.
1994 ….
I appeared for the most important interview of my life. I did full justice to all the question of my interviewer (my father- in – law) except one. He asked me about my hobby and I informed him about my area of specialization (listening music). His face lit up at the mention of my musical ability and asked me to name my favorite singers. Poor me, nervous me I was not ready with an answer and even before I could think I heard myself saying “Michael Jackson”. There was a minute’s silence observed as my in-laws were grappling to associate his name with someone they are familiar with. My mamajis face wore a gloomy look. Suddenly they broke out in a roar of laughter. Among the houseful of people I was the only one who was seriously chewing nails. BLAME IT ON MICHAEL!
How in the world would I have known that he wasn’t that popular among the high bred Bengali babus whose minds are encased in Ravindrik culture? I even had the audacity to think if Ravindra nath would have appreciated his music for the sheer freshness of the theme, after all he was fond of western classics which had a great impact on his composed songs!!!
A new phase of my life had started somewhere in a small city in India. I would still play his cassettes to relate to my dream world that once I used to live in. It was my only connection to my lost teenage years. My craziness faded away with time and I gradually emerged a more composed and matured person. Years after, when I looked back, those days appeared so silly.
1996….
Michael performed in amchi Mumbai…just 850 k.m. away from where I stayed (Nagpur) but I was too busy washing baby clothes and cleaning feeding bottles. Yes, my child was more important than my hero. The connection was broken. And I had lost my dream world in the practicatlities of my daily life and was busy pursuing more mundane things.
2003….
Jackson was arrested on charges that he molested another 13-year-old boy. The 2005 trial, which ultimately ended in an acquittal, brought to light more details of Jackson's strained finances.
For me it was just another piece of spicy news, in fact I was irritated like millions all over the world. It was the beginning of the walk down a tragic path financially, emotionally, spiritually, psychologically, legally.
2009, 26th June………..
I sat down in front of the television and, mind clouded with the past memories of so many phases of my life. I posted the sms on networking sites too, for which I received a mixed response. Some reciprocated, some objected and some were non responsive, considering me a crazy fan of Michael. I felt the need to convey that I was not among his craziest fan but even after so many years when he faded away from the lime light, I can’t ignore the fact that the world of music has lost a great musician and would remember him for his great contribution for a long time. He led a generation for good or bad or whatever that’s debatable but he was the leader and had cut a niche for himself. His untimely death was disheartening for me because it reminded me of my age. That bubbly girl in me died long back and I was just burdened with her memory which now should be buried with Michael. He was fifty, ten years older than me. If an icon can die we are mere human and I could see the death of my past and visualize the end of my life. But as death brings glory, Michael got his share too. His songs have topped the U.S popularity charts after his death. People are crying remembering the hysteria that he once generated among the masses. All the controversies and allegation have died a pitiful death as two days after his demise the 13 year old boy who had accused him of molestation came out with an apology and we kept on regretting. If Michael could know while alive …..if…if…
“I can’t stop loving you “ …and we can’t say “just beat it….”
Nothing is funky when you wriggle in pain lying on your bed with a punctured heart and Demerol running through the vain…..
“I wanna be startin’ somethin’….got to be startin something”…..you started but left unfinished leaving the generation 80’ in a confused state if they were right or wrong??
"Too high to get over too low to get under you stuck in the middle and the pain is thunder”
And pain of being misunderstood that even painkillers could not cure, took him away forever….he could not clear his name…. while alive…but death brought the glory which eluded him for years…..
No I will not miss you but I will always miss my golden days of which you were a part and which died and laid to rest with you forver….
THAT’S LIFE….AMEN!!!
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