Celebrating Michael Jackson & the NOWs of our Lives...

I was listening to a Michael Jackson collection this morning as I was driving to work. And, in it was Ben, a song he recorded when he was about 14. I have heard it many times before, and have always been moved by the divine innocence and sweetness of his 14-year old voice.

But today, it somehow created a deeper impact on me, and made me ponder on a great many things that our lives revolve around...

I remember the “series of monosyllabic retorts” that took place between me and my CEO when I suggested that we used MJ’s Man in the Mirror as the background music for an upcoming presentation. To his rather exhaustive list of accusatory nouns for MJ, I found myself responding with a limited one – GENIUS. That was all I kept saying till he (my CEO) gave up in exhaustion (of his list, and of arguing with his most persistent yet monosyllabically-limited subordinate). That was all I said because because that’s what I have always believed in, and seen MJ as – right from the time when he was this megastar who swept 8 Grammy awards in 1984, and I, the admiring teenager who watched in amazement at his sheer genius of a voice and dance moves.

And this morning as I heard his voice once again, I wondered why do we, as human beings, often fail miserably when it comes to dividing our experiences into a series of nows.

Lost me there, eh? :) Stay with me, and I will try and get the message across, somehow :).

How often do we find ourselves replacing a view we had of someone or something – one we had religiously held on to for years – just because of one negative incident about that person or thing that we come to know about? And yet, how many times have we been saddened when the one mistake we ourselves make overshadows the 10 good things that we probably had done before that. The question is – as saddened as we often become of our own situations – do we give others an equally fair share of sensitivity when we are no longer the one wallowing in self-pity?

One blackmark is all a person needs (unless he is a close friend or a loved one) for us to put the “give the dog a bad name and hang him” maxim to practice. All else he had done that we probably raved over before gets erased in an instant – just like that. (Great advertising people we'd make, won't we - being so effective at "branding" things around us :) ).

Isn't that a little sad - this state of our human mind?

Emily Dickinson, the reclusive American poet, once said “Forever is composed of nows”. Which brings me to my earlier statement about dividing our experiences into a series of nows.

I wonder if we have the maturity to divide our lives into nows and live each one of them in its absolute singularity, unswayed by all that has happened, or will happen outside its circle. Will we have the sensibility to celebrate each now (even the flawed ones, and not let them cringe into shame, and eventually disappear into exile?)

Our lives hardly ever remain the same – experiences vary even for the most predictable of people – are we then going to demean one experience in comparison to another? Should it not be given the respect it deserves – having been a "a part" of our lives at some point of time? Even if it had been a nasty experience, surely there must have been some good that came out of it. There must be. There always is.

And so, I don’t think I'm ever going to stop loving that part of Michael Jackson that many of us raved over just about two decades ago. Not even if he is slammed with another lawsuit. Not even if he decides to get himself any more bleached that he already is. Not even when he decides to get a further reconstructive surgery done on his face - bringing him one step closer to the skeletal look that he has already almost achieved.

Micheal Jackson, to me, will always remain the 14 year old who sang a song for a pet rat with powerful emotions of love that spoke a language of its own through his voice. And at other times, as the one who moonwalked his way 24 years ago into a magical, attack-proof world that I had created for him in my life.

Wacko Jacko he may be to many, but a genius he remains to me – as monosyllabically boring as that may sound.


Ben (A song written for a 1972 movie about a young boy who befriends a rat)

Ben, the two of us need look no more
We've both found what we were looking for
With a friend to call my own
I'll never be alone
And you, my friend will see
You've got a friend in me.

Ben, you're always running here and there
You feel you're not wanted anywhere
If you ever look behind
And don't like what you find
There's something you should know
You've got a place to go
I used to say "I and me" now it's "us" now it's "we".

Ben, most people would turn you away
I don't listen to a word they say
They don't see you as I do
I wish they would try to
I'm sure they'd think again
If they had a friend like Ben.