There was a time Mother hated Michael Jackson. I remember the day we were watching one of his music videos (or was it a stage performance?) and in walked Mother with her hand on her hip.
“What’s this?” She asked as she pointed at him pointing his vitals at us. “What’s this?”
“Well Mother,” I said, smiling, “this is Michael Jackson.”
“Shee! This fellow! Doesn’t know how to dress up at all.”
“Well Mother, it’s show business you know. They’ve got to dress up that way.”
“That doesn’t mean they show how vulgar they can be!”
I burst out laughing at that observation and she shook her head and stormed off into the kitchen.
Thereafter, as and when she encountered his face in the newspaper or an article about him, her reaction was more or less the same: She would frown, shake her head and ask rhetorically: “What’s this world come to?!
Well the world and Mother then saw things worse than Jackson’s dance moves and she slowly lost track of him and his work.
It was only a couple of years ago that she got in touch with him once again. I happened to be working at that time. And I also did myself and the family a favour: I bought a computer and paid for an Internet connection as well. Well, with the Internet came the habit of listening to stuff online. And one fine day, that stuff happened to be Heal the World.
As you may or may not know, it’s a pretty song. A child quite innocently muses about the world and its future and a little later, a slow mellifluous guitar melts into Jackson’s thin delicate voice that is laced with honey and tenderness. I let it play for a while as a cool breeze swept in from the windows and rustled my hair. I was so taken by the song that I hadn’t noticed Mother Dearest standing at my door – again with her hand on her hip.
“Alright fine,” I said as I yanked myself out of my bed, “I’ll lower the volume.” I said.
“On no no! That’s not what I came here for!”
I was surprised. “Then then?”
“Who’s this singer?”
“Well guess guess.”
“Why do you think I am asking you then?”
“Okay it’s your favourite Michael Jackson.”
For a minute, she did not know how to react. The hand went down from the hip to her sides and she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Finally, when she knew she had to say something, “Oh really! ” is what she managed.
“Yes, Mother, it’s the same fellow you never approved of!”
“What rubbish! I never said I never approved of him.”
“No, but whatever you did say more or less left nothing unsaid you know.”
“Oh my God! He sings so well,” She said, evidently ignoring me, “Why ever has he to be so outrageous!”
“Well that,” I sighed, “is something we have to live with.”
“Really he has such a lovely voice. Play that song again. Come on.”
So, I played it once more. And another dozen times as well.
Thereafter, Mother began to take a lenient view of the man. Gone were the acerbic admonitions of his ways and his lifestyle. “Oh he is misguided,”she began to explain as if I needed that clarification, “if he only were to understand what he is doing, he would not do all of that!”
Well Jackson clearly decided not to understand. From plastic surgeries to scandalous happenstances to being crowned the King of an African tribe to marrying twice to living on pills, he was quite sure of the loud noise he wanted as his lifestyle.
In the end, that very lifestyle swallowed him and his finances. He realized what had happened to him and knew he needed the fame and the money back. So, he went berserk and rehearsed for hours on end for his comeback concert that was to be held in London. Apparently, he did smile and wave at the dancers – that came naturally to him – and he was spot on with his impromptu sessions as well.
Anyway, minutes after that exuberant vitality pleasantly shocked his dance troupe, he died and shocked us all! Of course, the news took some time to drift across the Arabian Sea and land at my door. But the moment it did, Mother began to surf the Internet.
“And what exactly are you searching for Mother?”
“Oh there are no details about his burial service.”
“And you are planning to fly down there to attend?”
“Don’t be ridiculous dear!” And she returned to her searches. She searched on Monday.
She would not know about the burial service till the ensuing Wednesday.
Needless to say, but say I must, she was more in regret about his life than even perhaps he himself was. She urged me to keep playing Heal the World nearly a dozen times all over again. And since I have no complaint against that song, I played it.
Well, I was rather amused at Mother’s about turn through the years. And now that he was dead, she was quite close to proclaiming him rather innocent as well. It’s just that his scandals stood quite boldly and irritatingly in her way and she could do nothing about them. Or else, she would have gladly pretended to believe that they never happened at all.
I did mention this whole change of heart to her and she wiped her hands on her apron and gave me what I knew I would hear: “Oh he is dead and gone now. And he had a nice voice too. It’s a pity he did not follow what he did sing (Heal the World) or else he would have healed himself too!”
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