Memories of Michael Jackson, writes Shweta Bachchan Nanda

Every ‘80s child has a Michael Jackson story. Even the ones who say they don’t. When they first heard him, how many hours they practised their moon walk in the mirror, the single glove they took to wearing, emulating their idol… let’s not forget the move, I’d like to call the finger wiggle (the one he patented) that became the staple affectation of many a make-believe performance.  

Those who saw him perform live can never forget the magic. For many, no other performer came close. If anyone could make gore covetable, it was the King of Pop. I remember my brother and I spent some hard-earned pocket money on T-Shirts that, when worn, gave the impression of a, faux axe buried into the wearer’s back, replete with blood and gore - just so we could look like the walking dead in the Thriller video. We were die-hard fans! 

It so happened somewhere in the early 1980s. We were on a family holiday In New York when my father walks into our room and declares, “Guess who was just at the door, kids? Michael Jackson!!!” Much screaming, jumping and heavy breathing ensued... why had Michael Jackson rung our door bell, was he staying on our floor, what did he say, and finally why weren’t we called? It turns out my father had taken Mr Jackson’s regular suite, and the hotel refused to ask us to move to a similar suite at the other end of the corridor, prompting MJ to ring our doorbell and ask to meet my father, and on meeting him said, “I just wanted to see the Indian actor who took my regular suite.”  

They shook hands and he walked (in my head, it’s always a moon walk) down the corridor and made do with another suite. My brother and I spent much of that trip taking turns to squint through the peep hole, straining on our tippy-toes, hoping and praying to get a glimpse of the ultimate performer of our time. NO SUCH LUCK!  

Many years later we did manage to catch him in concert, he was a hyperactive dot on a mammoth stage, from where we were seated, in a galaxy far far away. That man was magic, his demons notwithstanding. Last week marked his sixth death anniversary and I found myself YouTubing him, Michael sliding across the stage seamlessly, fluid and graceful, giggling, singing “You are not alone, I am here with you, and though we’re far apart, I’m always in your heart…”