As a kid, I remember listening to Beat It as my first Michael Jackson song. I recall sitting on the passenger side with my dad and singing whatever I could manage at the top of my voice, windows down. To date, I have not met one person who didn't like a Michael Jackson song. And I have a feeling I never will.
I do not know if legends are born, or made. What I do know, That good ol' Jacko would have most certainly managed it both ways. He had.. An aura to him. Of dreams, ambition, dedication, and most of all, humanity. I've rarely seen a star on camera who spoke of love and togetherness and brotherhood with such urgency and passion and came across as genuine at the same time. He probably mentioned the word 'love' more than our bollywood movies. And that's a lot. But we, heartless animals as we are, killed him.
On 25th June, 2009, Michael Jackson collapsed in his living room as his son watched, under the impression that his dad was just clowning around. At the age of 50, The Thriller succumbed to a heart failure. Somehow, his death at 50 seemed more shocking than Kurt Cobain's murder at 27. Because inside, Michael was still a child. A child who always wanted to go higher, dance tirelessly and please the ones giving him attention. It seemed just unbelievable and completely preposterous that those shiny black shoed feet won't glide over the dance floor ever again. Michael was too lively to be dead to the world.
Personally (and trust me, this IS a very personal post) I hold us as the cause for Michael's obviously early demise. Mj was known as the greatest performer of all times. He holds a world record for it. The youngest of the Jackson5, he loved the camera, his fans and the attention and euphoria he got from stardom. He was a crowd pleaser and was therefore ready to do anything to keep the throne as The King Of Pop. And he started falling to this pressure. Slowly, he started turning up in news for the most shocking, and somewhat outlandish, reasons. Because people had slowly started getting bored of him. Sure, the fans remained crazy as ever, but the general public wanted more. Michael kept giving away pieces of himself, and we kept lunging at them like hungry, rabid dogs. And before he knew it, before we knew it and before anyone else in the world could possibly imagine it, Michael was dead. As dead as one could ever be.
The London Concerts he was going to throw will always be an unfinished dream of his, and an unfinished memory of ours. I wish he rests in peace and I wish more of his kind are born. Although, yes, no one can be Michael Jackson. He was the only one. That Was It.
