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?