Indian Humour

The lighter side of India...

MICHAEL JACKSON'S FAN LETTER FROM INDIA

Dear Michael,

My name is Chandrika, an English teacher in Madurai and your greatest fan in India. I started enjoying your music many years ago, during the late '70s or early '80s, back in the days when you didn't look so much like your sister LaToya.

You were my childhood idol, Michael, with your great voice, amazing dancing and wonderful Afro. You were the epitome of the phrase "tall, dark and handsome," even if the "tall" part was largely a result of your hair.

I was proud that someone as dark-skinned as me had achieved so much and was adored by millions of people. You see, even as a child, I was made to feel uneasy about my complexion.

My elder sister, Radhika, was fair-skinned and all my relatives commented that she had "good color," while debating endlessly what had happened to me. Some thought I had played too much in the sun. Others wondered if my mother had sprinkled enough powder on me as a baby. A few concluded that, given my sister's fair skin, all I needed was a good scrubbing in the bathtub.

If you think that was bad, you should hear what happened to me when my father, an Army captain, was transferred north to Delhi. I was a teen-ager then and had to endure all sorts of ridicule from the light-skinned girls in my school. One girl said that I was the black sheep of my family and that my parents must have bought me on the black market. I wanted to give her a black eye. Another girl kept saying I was as black as a crow. I wanted to peck her eyes out.

Children can be cruel, but Indians of all ages are obsessed with skin color. That's why my sister got married so easily. My father placed a matrimonial ad describing Radhika as "extremely fair" and she found a groom the very next day. (He runs a tailor shop, but managed to impress my father by calling himself a "softwear designer.") I didn't have any luck at all with my ad, unless you count the three proposals I received from Central Prison. Those rascals must have missed the line in which I said "no bars."

My relatives advised me to try again, saying I should put the word "fair" in my ad. So I wrote another matrimonial ad and said that I had won first prize in the science fair. But the men, they don't care about that kind of fair. It's so unfair.

My relatives then suggested I try various methods of lightening my skin. First I tried all the beauty creams, including "Fair & Lovely," "Fair Glow," and "Fairy-tale." None of them lightened my skin, though they did manage to lighten my purse. Next I tried covering myself in a paste of coconut milk, white flour and talcum powder. That worked out well, but only until the paste dried and cracked in many places. I looked like Sonia Gandhi's great-grandmother.

It was during this time that I noticed something amazing: You, Michael, had somehow transformed yourself from black to white. I said to myself, "He's a great composer, wonderful singer, superb dancer. And now he's managed to change color. Is there anything this man can't do?"

When my relatives heard about your transformation, they told me to experiment some more. For a few years, I tried moonwalking, wearing a white glove and hanging out with lots of children. I even got myself a pet monkey named Bubbles. But my complexion didn't change, not even under the glove.

Then someone informed me that you suffer from some sort of skin condition. If that's true, Michael, I'm sorry to hear it. I wouldn't wish that upon anyone.

My relatives, however, want me to ask you this: Is it contagious? And if so, Michael, when are you coming to India?

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