It, indeed,
is Last Christmas of sorts, in a heart-wrenching way. George Michael was the
Rock star lover boy who made our heartbeats race with his silky, smooth voice
and Greek God good looks. His irresistibly attractive swag (shades better than
Andrew, though the latter was no less good looking) always made us swoon and
sweat.
Friends, who know me since the 80s, would recall my unabashed love for
George and my tribute to him through the way I wore my hair for years. My
shaggy, messy-top hairstyle was a collective homage to my Pop idols of that
time - George Michael, Cyndi Lauper and Janet Jackson.
Besides grabbing a huge chunk of space in our hearts, George Michael
helped us feel, emote and express the teenage and early 20s love we wore on our
sleeves. I remember being pulled in for a New Year's Eve dance by one of the
most sexilicious of
Doon boys at that time, the hunk a lot of us girls crushed over. With a pounding
heart and the white fear that he would listen to the loud sound my heart was
making over louder music, I crumbled into the luscious dude's arms as we danced
cheek to cheek in dimmed lights on "Careless Whisper."
During one of my longest infatuation periods, George's mellifluously
sung Love Ballads kept me company as I teared up at the thought of
unrequited love. In the absence of a real boyfriend and engulfed in the mushily
imagined phase of romance, I cried copiously into the pillow with the strains
of "Last Christmas" causing the right effect on my weak nerves.
Back in the
day, fed on the "boy chases girl" diet of Bollywood flirtations, I
often looked out the window into the Farmhouse Orchard to imagine George
Michael tease and tempt me with his "Edge of Heaven."
With his
golden voice belting out tempting lyrics in the background, I would time and
again sit by my bedroom window and either watch the rain falling on the garden
swing or count dew drops on the summer grape vine or look at frosticles on the
edges of the fir tree leaves. The seasons would change but what would stay
constant was my love and intense admiration for this blonde bombshell.
In my late
teens, early twenties, without the experience of a real-life boyfriend, George
filled the gap admirably. My fertile imagination was all I had to reach into to
have a rollicking affair in my mind with the hottest Pop star; the deep sense
and craving for passion making me go to places I did not know existed within me
and feel such sensations that brought only pure joy. Song after song, from
"Father Figure" to "A Different Corner" to "I Can't
Make you Love Me" he made me relish the gamut of amorous feelings that
every girl or boy should; and more importantly, he made me feel those without
the baggage of guilt, secrecy, hurt and heartbreak.
For a large
part of my life, dance has been a big segment of my exercise routine. More than
walking and cycling, what I have really enjoyed is an hour long dancercise to
pulsating music in the cozy confines of my house. Whenever I have done that,
Wake me up before you go-go, Club Tropicana, Young Guns, Come On and Bad
Boys have always been on the playlist.
Even today,
at my heaviest, sedentary worst, it is Faith that makes me get up and wear my
blue Suede shoes!
Well the
thing is; first loves never disappear, reappearing in some corner of the heart
with the slightest nudge from nostalgia. They, like an autumn rash, flare up at
the faintest teasing of the memory, coming alive as if they never went into a
deep recess buried in the life that existed in another time. And great
musicians never really die. They are as immortal as the music they have
created; rising up in our consciousness with just a turn of the knob.
George
Michael, you were an essential part of my youth. That stage of life that one
never lets go of, even when one advances in age. So, as long as I am young at
heart, you will always reside in my mind.
I love you
George! I will always miss you for all the music you could still have made,
George Michael.
For now, go
and do the jitterbug with God!
Picture
courtesy - Joost Hogervorst
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