I Just Can’t Stop Lovin’ You
A Tribute to Michael Jackson
It’s finally beginning to sink in. Michael Jackson is no more. But for the most part, after I received the early morning wake up news about his passing (India time), I was just too numb to react. I guess I’m just one of the innumerable fans feeling personally bereaved.
I discovered MJ when I was eleven. It was the pre-cable TV era in India and there was not much access to international music, especially for someone like me who at that time lived in small town Siliguri in West Bengal. I did catch a rare glimpse of his on VHS tapes owned by friends with relatives in ‘phoren’. I liked him enough but didn’t idolize him or anything – that honour was strictly reserved for the very non-musical sporting icon Sachin Tendulkar. I did have a book of MJ’s songs’ lyrics and ‘sheet music’, but that was a default possession which came free with an electronic keyboard. And I pretty much remained indifferent to that little book.
At the age of twelve my family and I moved to the big bad metropolis, Delhi, and I ended up staying at a property which had a cable guy as one of the tenants. Cable TV had just made its first few tentative steps in India and having a cable guy as tenant meant free and unlimited access to cable TV, then almost unheard of! As an aside, the MTV then was enormously different from its Bollywoody avatar today. The VJ’s, and more importantly, the artistes featured were all ‘firangs’. In fact we would be very surprised (and pay special attention to) any Indian (or Indian seeming) musicians – Rock Machine, Apache Indian, Strings… And then, one day, I came across MJ – and the ‘Black or White’ video mesmerized me to no end. I was hooked.
I really don’t remember what happened after that. Soon MJ became adored, worshipped, loved, idolized, etc by me, replacing Sachin Tendulkar or anyone else in my heart! By the time I was thirteen, I was totally smitten. Dare anyone say anything against MJ! Not only was I this besotted fan of his, I day-dreamt all day long about him and imagined some fanciful communion with him in my solitary moments. The MJ songs’ book which had received scant attention from me earlier became my prized possession. It had a big picture of his on the cover and I would hug it to sleep at night, and kiss it, god alone knows how many times a day.
One day I learnt that he was a vegetarian. If I’m not mistaken, it had something to do with his association with ‘Free Willy’ and a resultant respect for animal life. I was a Punjabi, eating anything that moved (oh, ok not anything, like the Chinese!), but how could I eat meat when my hero had relinquished it? Ultimately, the devoted fan in me won, and I remain a vegetarian to this day.
It was 1993 and at a certain point in time, allegations of child sexual abuse against MJ began to surface. I was too young then to fully understand what ‘gay’ or ‘paedophile’ meant (though, admittedly, today’s kids are much better informed). But I did comprehend that something seemed to be going wrong in Neverland. Then there was a spate of news reports about some of his idiosyncrasies, and the sobriquet ‘Whacko Jacko’ began to be abundantly bandied about. Friends would make fun of him and it started becoming ‘uncool’ to be associated with MJ.
Gradually, the ‘bhoot savaar’, the craze, began to wear off. Though I could never really say that I had become indifferent to MJ. A couple of years down the line he visited India and I yearned to be in Bombay for his concert, but knew that I would never be allowed to travel alone that far. I had to satisfy myself by watching bits of his concert on TV (along with my recently-converted-into-an-MJ-fan grandfather who was only 93!). At the concert, there was this girl in the audience who got invited by MJ to dance with him on stage. Apparently she fainted when he said ‘I love you’ and didn’t take a bath for days because MJ had shook her hand. God! Did I envy that girl or what!
But once the hysteria abated, I found MJ becoming weirder by the day. His marriage to Lisa Marie Presley seemed like a publicity stunt and that very public kiss was totally revolting. His new albums and videos were not a patch on his earlier work, and in any case I had already started veering towards hardcore rock music. His numerous plastic surgeries and ever-changing nose put him in the category of the freakishly bizarre. By now, his reputation was such that it got embarrassing to admit that you liked him. I remember sheepishly admitting to a bunch of friends that I had become a veggie because MJ had been my hero and idol at a point in time. They teased me for several days after that. They would playfully start singing MJ’s songs whenever they would see me. Being an MJ fan meant risking being a laughing stock. And as far as I was concerned, MJ was history…
…And then, one day in recent history, he just died. The news of his death struck like a bolt out of the blue. It was unbelievable. And I was suddenly filled with a tragic sense of loss. Memories of my young and innocent days came flooding back and I was overcome by a wave of nostalgia, those sweet, simple days of MJ’ing. I really don’t know what happened to me after that. I just found myself mourning his death. I cancelled all my plans, including doctors’ appointments, for the week following his death, and remained glued to the international TV channels and newspapers which were covering his demise. I just couldn’t have enough of him and would often find myself being moved to tears by his death. I couldn’t believe I had ‘rejected’ him after having been such a devoted fan once. It would hurt me personally when people would call him ‘Whacko’ or crack jokes at his expense. And now, it’s back to yesterday, i.e., my childhood and teenage years of complete loyalty to MJ. He is back to being my super-talented, peace-loving, humanitarian hero. And it’s going to be like this forever. I love you, MJ!
