The Michael Jackson Effect

Skinhead, dead head
Everybody gone bad
Situation, aggravation
Everybody allegation
In the suite, on the news
Everybody dog food
Bang bang! shot dead
Everybody's gone mad

All I wanna say is that
They don't really care about us!

When I heard this song being sung for the first time by a sort-of-brother, initially I was stuck by the zigzag rhythm pattern it follows. I went through the lyrics downloaded from the net, and I understood its social and historic significance. The liberty-craving minds of the blacks in the States and in the world across are well portrayed in this song. I also watched the video of a fair longhaired man inspiring the slum people of Rio de Janeiro by singing this song, stamping on the ground, making wild noises, wishing the wild gathering and stepping according to the beats. Though I had heard about him a lot, actually it was the exact moment I began to admire him, the King of Pop, Michael Jackson!

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June 25, 2009 – It was the day when the Law of Nature put a sparkling black curtain along a fifty years long life. Newspapers and channels broadcasted the news of Jackson’s death with huge prominence and I came to know the news only in the next morning. I was in the house where I stay along with some guys as paying guest. I heard everyone discussing about Michael Jackson and his living style, and everybody felt as if some thing big has lost to the music world. When I sat in the sit-out reading the Jackson news and hearing the people’s comments, I suddenly thought about the old song taught by my brother. I sang it without any introduction though my oral muscles are toned in quiet another way making it almost impossible for me to spell out the words in the Englishman’s style. But hearing me singing the ‘they don’t care about us’ song, my friends asked me to sing it again. Though embarrassed, I sang it again and when I added some of a few childhood-learned steps along with the flickering beats in addition to some ‘Jacksonian’ hand gestures and finger movements, my friends felt my version of his songs too has a little appeal.
The next day saw a huge rush in my room and everybody wanted me to repeat the song and they asked me to teach them the song. When some of them felt ‘they don’t care about us’ as a little bit difficult for them, I introduced the ‘Dangerous’ lyrics – that too copied from the net. In addition to teaching them the lyrics, I think, for not less than two to three weeks I also became the choreographer to them. Even that next-room-dweller, that idiotic blabbermouth guy, too has started to wish me with his husky version of ‘Dangerous’ in the mornings. In every room, in leisure times, in office cabins and in classrooms, Michael Jackson and his songs took reincarnation. His steps were imitated, his thrilling cap holding style too was tried successfully. That is the Michael Jackson magic! The Jackson Effect!
In his personal life, Michael Jackson might have sinned as per the religious notions, especially according to the Christian views. But I believe that his sins all were pardoned during his suffering times, especially after 2001. He was such a lonely man even amidst the huge fanfare. He suffered from several body ailments, from humiliation by the court and public and from his tormented childhood days. No worry, I believe definitely Michael Jackson will go heaven.

Photo: Michael Jackson in Bad Concert
Courtesy: Corbis

Mid-day Romance

“I miss this city now very much as it was where most of my dreams were cherished”, said my friend with a sigh. I said, “No, but you left this city for your studies that you are pursuing now?” “Yeah, it was for my better future, but still my heart is here”, he is nostalgic. “What is so much peculiar about this city?” I darted a question. He again sighed, and I got it as a signal that my friend has been making himself ready for an eloquent speech about his strong emotional ties with this city. He was here for some time when I just landed for my studies in this historic place and we met in accordance with some divine plan. But he moved to another place for studies and occasionally visits here as if drawn by some magnetic forces. “I miss everything, the people, the friends, the movies, the places, the beachsides, the royal paths, the poet’s meetings, and above all, I terribly miss this beautiful park where we spent many of our magnificent evenings”. He paused for a breath. He has been talking facing me looking over my shoulder towards infinity. He again started, “besides, one more thing, which is the most appealing for me is…”, he put his sentence to an abrupt end. I watched something in his eyes that has been fixed on some objects located at a distance at my back. Suddenly his eyeballs formed a much bigger round shape, which were flashing like flames of passion and out of excitement he cried gripping tightly on my shoulder, “Look…! Look there!!” His cry startled me. Because of bigger excitement and hoping for a surprise I turned back and saw what made my friend so much agitated. It was a beautiful woman! Or more specifically, “not a girl, not yet a woman”. Here the courtesy goes to Britney Spears, ‘the Princess of Pop’, as I don’t like to be charged by her. We both, holding the fences of the park watched her walking through the parallel parkway without a single blink. Clad in an oily cyan colored salwar-kameez, this girl’s walk has brought to my mind the contrasting appearance of the Dilliwali girl on the train of “Time Kya Ho Raha Hein?”. This girl is modest and at the same time proud. Haughty and timid. Well mannered and educated as the vanity bag on her shoulder reflected. The small kumkum on her forehead revealed her traditional approach. But, in contrast her high-heel footwear displayed how modern is she in her mindset. That was she. The girl of the day. When she approached close to us, we both have been looking her. While moving forward in a rhythm she just glanced us and a sudden flash of shy smile disappeared at her parted red lips. We both hallucinated, the effect of which was more on my friend. She just stopped there and we presumed, that she has been looking to the queue for the zoo. Both of our eyes were clung at her fair spotless glaring face. She was tall and her structure was well shaped. While she stood there turning back to us, we attempted an ungentle analysis of her posture and shape. I became impatient when no further responses were coming from the girl. Out of my desperation I climbed upon the stout tree with full of branches to exhibit my smartness. Hanging upside down on the branch with my legs locked and clutching on a branch with my hands, I called my friend for help. With his help I found a comfortable position on the tree. I glanced at her and saw her talking to somebody on the phone. But nobody seems giving attention to me, not even the kids of the park. When I tried to jump from one branch to another, my friend called me ‘monkey’. So, there ends my unsuccessful attempts to get attention from her. We saw a sudden smile at the face of this girl, who has been looking at the crowd in front of the zoo. I climbed down from the tree. A handsome man wearing a black tee and jeans from the crowd waved at her. With a new light on her face, this girl hastened towards him. It was their rendezvous, a date. A sharp thudding sound came from my heart followed by a clinking sound. It was my heart broken. My friend suddenly looked at me. Without much late, I heard another sound of thudding. It was his heart. This time it was a very much bigger sound than mine. Photo: Britney Spears Courtesy: www.gobritney.com

Letter to Jonnie Walker

When I was a teeny-weeny under-graduate guy, I was noted for my idiotic buffoon-like behavior among my fellow students. I was an above average student in terms of studies and had not tried my skill publicly in extra-curricular activities. I was in my first year and it was the time when the University just had made some ameliorative changes in the syllabus. Our English lessons had changed from mere literature books towards a more liberal method giving the students a lot of practical comprehension opportunities. The new method seemed simpler and more effective than the previous method of committing the short answers and essays to memory and barfing the exact phrases given in the text books to the answer sheets. Similarly in all subjects, the University introduced individual seminars and assignments for the students. I still recall, the seminars were the most glamorous item of the university’s innovative changes. Our English classes were taken for a combined class of Mathematics and Physics students. Majority of the students were girls who occupied the two rows of benches of the total three and we boys satisfied with a single row. Anyway, some notable and famous boys of the college like Mahesh, Tony, Georgekutty and Iqbal were the centre of attraction of the class and I already was a close friend of them as I was a Mathematics boy just like them as well. I believe that my crackbrained nature and the teenage-common insanity too had made me a close friend of these guys. Well, on this day we were being lectured by our English lecture, who was actually my father’s first cousin. He took a passage, which was aimed to train the students on how to write formal as well as informal letters on occasions. We were asked to write an imaginary letter to our friends – real or invented – who might have studied with us or might have met in some occasions or whatever. Everybody started writing and I too have started by addressing with ‘Dear…’ Then I stopped as I had not fixed my mind concerning to whom my letter ought to be addressed. You should remember that I was in an age, which is regarded as ‘the period of stress and strain, storm and strife’ and ‘the period of temporary insanity’. (Please forgive me for my Plagiarism, for I don’t remember who actually had coined these beautiful definitions of teenage). I glanced Mahesh’s book and I found that he was addressing his letter to his childhood friend Ani. Georgekutty’s friend was one of his relative and Tony wrote his letter to Mahesh himself. When I tried to look at Iqbal’s book he challenged me with a sharp look and covered the writings with his hand. Anyway I peeped through the clefts of his fist and found that his letter was addressed to the most famous girl of the college, who had got all boys of that college as her secret admirers (except me! :D).

But I thought again, and no names of my childhood friends were satisfactory to be displayed on my letter. Suddenly I stuck with a name. The name was Jonnie Walker. I knew this name as the name of a character, which was successfully enacted by the Malayalam actor Mammootty. The name of the film too was the same, Jonnie Walker. Only later, I came to know that Jonnie Walker as a best brand of liquors. Anyway I fixed Jonnie Walker as my best friend and I addressed my letter to him, though the name is not a common name in Kerala, and above all if someone name there children with the word ‘Walker’, it could be looked upon as ‘queer’.

Well, after finishing the letter (the content of the letter too was funny and I will tell you it in another story) our lecturer collected our books for evaluation. After spending some time on a few of letters, he began to return the books to us back by calling each student’s name. Suddenly he asked, “Who is Tom?” I stood up and looked at my lecturer pretending that I was afraid of him. Everybody’s attention fell on me. “Sir, I am” “Is your friend’s name is Jonnie Walker?” The entire class turned into a loud roaring of laughter. I just smiled and looked every one in the class in a majestic manner as if they were my subjects and I was the King. Because, I felt that I had done a heroic blunder, which was impossible for the majority of the class. The uproar of the class irritated my teacher. He said, “Ok, you can be smart. But don’t try to be comic beyond a limit” Everybody stopped laughing. The smile on my face changed and an embarrassed grin came into its place. I really hoped, if there was a chasm on the ground below my feet, I could go to the depths to escape from the humiliation. Watching the slight coloration on my face, my teacher did not disturb me more. He permitted me to sit. So, that’s the history of my letter to Jonnie Walker. Photo: Actor Mammootty in a function Courtesy: Mammootty.com

“Ma…Please Don’t Tell This to Papa”

I quitted last year my habit of smoking, which I had continued for a period spanning some three years. I don’t know actually how much nicotine had I consumed and what percentage of my lungs is tar coated. But for sure, I still am a smoker, for in every friend group that I happened to be a part, a major number of people are habitual smokers and I am damn sure that you learned readers are aware of the two types of smoking, viz, active and passive.

This incident occurred during my study time at MG University campus. For easy reach, we friends hired a house close to the campus, which was about one hour away from my home, by vehicle. Miraculously, I was the only smoker among my roommates and I still remember the friendly faces of the owners of our house, though much of the incidents occurred at that time have gone beyond the clouds of forgetfulness now. On weekends I used to travel back to my home by bus and for two days, viz., Saturday and Sunday every week I had to control my addiction for smoking as my family did not know about the wretched habit. On this particular Friday evening, it was drizzling slightly, which is, you smokers know, a very tempting occasion for lighting a cigar. After reaching the bus station near my home I purchased one cigarette and kept it in my bag. Only my mother was there when I reached home and after exchanging a few words I went to my room. After closing the door, (note that I did not lock it), I took out the cigarette from my pocket and found out a matchbox from somewhere. It was raining heavily outside, and through the windows, chilly mist and water drops together had been entering inside. I hesitated a little, though I could not deny my blood’s strengthening addiction for consuming the deadly tobacco. My intention thickened and I lit the cigarette. After a few hesitant intakes of smoke I just left my inhibitions and with no more confusion I began to smoke walking in a majestic way pretending as if I am Amitabh Bachchan himself. Suddenly I heard a crackling voice at the door. With no notice, my mother rushed in to take something from my room. I just hid the cigarette at my back. My mother caught the smell of smoke and she asked, as if she was innocent, “What is this smell? Is something burning? Do you smoke?” Though I was sure that I was caught with red hand, I said, “No!” “Show me you hands,” my mother asked. I understood that there were no means of escape left and I showed my hands. A partially finished cigarette had been still burning in between my fingers. My mother became desperate, she asked, “Oh! When did you start this habit? Don’t you know this is hazardous?” I smelt a danger. I couldn’t predict what would happen if my father came to know this. So I pleaded her showing my two palms at her in a way to protect me from this piteous state, “Ma, please my father shouldn’t know this…please don’t tell him.” I remember, my voice was so pathetic and piteous at that time. She promised that she wouldn’t tell it to my father. Two weeks later, my elder sister came home. As it was a holiday, I too was in the home. I was sitting in the front and reading something. Then I suddenly heard somebody speaking a familiar phrase in a familiar voice. I identified it was my sister, who had been imitating my own voice. When I looked at her, she said hilariously after glancing at me, “Ma, please my father shouldn’t know this, please don’t tell him”. After a pause, she again repeated the same words several times, each time giving stress, pitch and intonation to different words, so that she gets the complete satisfaction in imitating me and terrifying me. My father was somewhere over there and was about to make an appearance towards the middle of us. My mother had kept her promise. She hadn’t told it to my FATHER. Instead, she had said it to my sister. Not only that I smoked, but also how piteous was my state when I was caught red-handedly. Everybody knows, if my mother reveals something about ME to my sister, no minutes are left to reach it at my father’s ears. (Image: Amitabh Bachchan in Don, Courtesy: www.goamitabh.com)