I think it was the year 1990.
One routine afternoon, I was among the three "out-standing" students of 5-B, Kendriya Vidyalaya-NAL Campus, Bangalore. The reason: My everyday crime of being oversmart enough to answer questions out of turn in class. My partners in crime being B Karthik and K R Sreedhar.
Having nothing else to do and completely oblivious to the fact that we were being watched by our headmistress Ms Lilly Philips from the staff room across the quadrangle, I began demonstrating to my friends some "cool" break dance steps that I had seen recently on TV (DD, only DD!!). No prizes for guessing who I was trying to be!
By the end of the day, I had got what possibly was my first nickname in school: Chhota Jackson!
Such was the impression created by Michael Jackson on us kids that virtually every movement of ours -- at least mine -- was based on an imagined dance step of either the late musician or the Tamizh actor Karthik (Yeah, his feeble attempts in "Raja...Rajadhi Rajan Indha Raja" of Agni Nacchattiram endeared him to all of us.)
I remember my grandfather -- the late U Sreekumara Menon -- rebuking me for not walking properly (yeah, even walking had to be in Michael Jackson style).
Today, when one hears of the pop king's tragic demise, one can't help but relive those memories and images attached to that wierd man in outlandish costumes.
Undeniably, one has grown out of the childhood awe of Michael Jackson. Yet, after all the dusting and cleaning one's personality goes through in the course of years, a few particles of the star-dust remain hidden here and there.
There was virtually nothing of Michael Jackson's music nor the supposed politics in it that I appreciated then. The obsession with his dance was just a passing phase. It was purely the larger-than-life persona and the glitz and glamour associated with him. But that was more than enough, I guess.
Something within persuades me to sympathise with the troubled life of Michael Jackson.
They say he was a flawed genius. I think genius itself is a flaw in world of average human beings. They say he will always remain at the top as far pop music concerned. I say the top is always a place where loneliness burroughs deep into your bones, making it hollow.
When I think of Michael Jackson, I can't help but conjure up an image of a tormented soul, who hated to be constantly under the glare and yet was always in it.
He may or may not have been a paedophile. He may or may not have been the paragon of virtue.
But at a very very personal level, to me his ultimate contribution to the world was: "Heal The World, Make It A Better Place..."
One routine afternoon, I was among the three "out-standing" students of 5-B, Kendriya Vidyalaya-NAL Campus, Bangalore. The reason: My everyday crime of being oversmart enough to answer questions out of turn in class. My partners in crime being B Karthik and K R Sreedhar.
Having nothing else to do and completely oblivious to the fact that we were being watched by our headmistress Ms Lilly Philips from the staff room across the quadrangle, I began demonstrating to my friends some "cool" break dance steps that I had seen recently on TV (DD, only DD!!). No prizes for guessing who I was trying to be!
By the end of the day, I had got what possibly was my first nickname in school: Chhota Jackson!
Such was the impression created by Michael Jackson on us kids that virtually every movement of ours -- at least mine -- was based on an imagined dance step of either the late musician or the Tamizh actor Karthik (Yeah, his feeble attempts in "Raja...Rajadhi Rajan Indha Raja" of Agni Nacchattiram endeared him to all of us.)
I remember my grandfather -- the late U Sreekumara Menon -- rebuking me for not walking properly (yeah, even walking had to be in Michael Jackson style).
Today, when one hears of the pop king's tragic demise, one can't help but relive those memories and images attached to that wierd man in outlandish costumes.
Undeniably, one has grown out of the childhood awe of Michael Jackson. Yet, after all the dusting and cleaning one's personality goes through in the course of years, a few particles of the star-dust remain hidden here and there.
There was virtually nothing of Michael Jackson's music nor the supposed politics in it that I appreciated then. The obsession with his dance was just a passing phase. It was purely the larger-than-life persona and the glitz and glamour associated with him. But that was more than enough, I guess.
Something within persuades me to sympathise with the troubled life of Michael Jackson.
They say he was a flawed genius. I think genius itself is a flaw in world of average human beings. They say he will always remain at the top as far pop music concerned. I say the top is always a place where loneliness burroughs deep into your bones, making it hollow.
When I think of Michael Jackson, I can't help but conjure up an image of a tormented soul, who hated to be constantly under the glare and yet was always in it.
He may or may not have been a paedophile. He may or may not have been the paragon of virtue.
But at a very very personal level, to me his ultimate contribution to the world was: "Heal The World, Make It A Better Place..."
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