Debarth's Den

I woke up to a dreary morning in the small town of Kakinada on the eastern coast of India. Everything this morning held up the promise of a Sunday not unlike any other in the recent past. I had an appointment to keep at a give-away function organized by my company for the distribution of free food packets to HIV infected children from nearby villages; an event that hardly conjured up any prospect to enthuse my spirits. However, I conscientiously regarded it my duty to be present at the function as I am one of the contributors to the fund that supports these children. With these thoughts of dutifulness and an inflated sense of nobility firmly ensconced in my mind, I set out for my destination with my friend and colleague, C N Wong. On our arrival at the site of the function, my spirits were bogged down even more at the sight of the dilapidated building and the gloomy confines in which the function was to be held. However, when we finally emerged out into the open after more than two ho...

The news of Michael Jackson’s death struck me like a bolt of lightning. To many, the happening has been a virtual non-event; but somehow, the whole journey of the enigmatic personality from his death to his funeral has been one fraught with poignancy for me. As stories of Jackson’s life flashed incessantly on television, I wallowed in a pleasurable wave of nostalgia. Images of Michael Jackson’s dominance of the 1984 Grammy Awards flashed across my mind. I recalled my brother and I watching the nominations of the awards on Doordarshan late into the night on our portable black-and-white TV. At that time, music in video form was at its infancy and watching Michael Jackson performing in “Beat It” and “Billie Jean” on video was a heady visual delight. Memories of pavement slabs getting illuminated at his every step in the video “Billie Jean” remain etched in my mind to this day. We were truly fascinated by this slightly built, cute Black boy with his natural dance movements setting the scre...