Mallika Chopra
Author and Founder of Intent.com
Posted: June 26, 2009 06:44 PM
It is with a sad heart today that I write this blog. My brother, Gotham Chopra, and my father, Deepak Chopra, have both written beautiful articles remembering our friend, Michael Jackson. I debated writing something or not, and in the end decided to write for my own healing process.
My brother and I had a magical childhood, and much of this was because of Michael. For us, Michael let us visit Neverland like it was our own – from movies to playing video games to bumper car rides to playing with the chimps to eating amazing chocolate chip cookies, we were able to take our cousins and friends to this magical place and just have pure fun. Eating meals with Michael in those days – almost 20 years ago now -- was always an experience. He would start humming a tune and then excuse himself. When he came back, he would giggle with delight, explaining how music just came to him and he had to record it to save what came, he always said, came from some place else. Every moment we were with Michael, I would be utterly comfortable and utterly in awe at the same time.
My relationship with Michael was very different from that of my father and brothers. Michael and I shared an absolute love for children, and his heart cried about the pain children around the world faced. One day, while chatting with him about his upcoming Super Bowl performance, Michael was brainstorming how he could use the worldwide exposure for a greater cause, and the Heal The World Foundation was born. My first job, after graduating from college, was to launch the foundation with a small team. I was so proud of the work we did in that short time, only to find that our good intentions came to a halt when Michael was accused the first time of child molestation. Over night, understandably so, non-profits backed away from our efforts and we quietly closed shop. My family always maintained our belief that Michael was innocent in both cases – for those that were close to Michael, all would admit he was quirky and had bad judgment at times. But to think Michael could abuse a child was unfathomable in my mind.
Over the last decade, my relationship with Michael continued to be focused on kids, but now our own. (We remained connected through my best friend, Grace, who served as their nanny for many years.) It was amazing for me to witness in those early years how enamored Michael was with his children. He changed their diapers through the night, sang and played with them, rocked them to sleep, bathed them and had to change his own outfits when they threw up on him – the same routine that all parents know and love. In the few times we spoke, he would always reflect on the miracle of being a parent. He also protected them in a way that reflected his own lost childhood, and his paranoia about being taken advantage of. Paris, Prince and Blanket are three beautiful children. With Michael gone, I truly pray that they will find some peace and be spared the heart wrenching pain that their father faced time and time again in his life.
I write this blog in London after having a very surreal encounter with the kind of people that Michael was always paranoid about. I will spare the details, but in those few hours, where I felt my kids were in a vulnerable situation, I had just the tiniest insight into why Michael became so paranoid in his life. So sad that such a trusting soul had to become so distrustful. Because truly he was a loving, trusting soul.
Here in London, like in much of the world, every television channel paid tribute to Michael Jackson. As I watched some clips with my two young daughters (7 and 5), I found I had so much to explain to them. Why did he have white skin (he had a skin disease)? Why did he look so different from when he was a kid? (A fascinating discussion about plastic surgery followed). Why did he look so weird? Why did he hide all the time? What’s going to happen to Prince, Paris and Blanket? I patiently answered their questions, focusing on being a mom that needs to help her children understand a confusing world. The reality is that Michael's life and story brings up painful questions about how we see the world and treat others.
And, as we were watching, the Heal the World video came on. And finally after holding back all morning, my tears streamed down freely, as my two daughters held me. Hearing that song, in which Micheal sang about healing the world…
Michael truly had a gift to heal – his music and his sweet soul touched billions - and for that, I hope he will be remembered.
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Mallika Chopra
Author and Founder of Intent.com
Posted: June 28, 2009 05:19 PM
In the aftermath of Michael Jackson's death, I found myself in a surreal situation that gave me a glimpse into the dark side of bloodsuckers, media and celebrity.
In those few hours, I saw a side of humanity that saddens me - where people try to take advantage of vulnerability, confusion, and grief for their own advantage. I realized that much of media has so much more to gain when they report salacious gossip, even in the aftermath of a tragic death like Michael's. I also realized that all of us, myself included, who participate in the engagement of that media feed so-called journalists to do anything to get their information. In the end, personalities like Michael are portrayed as freaks and dysfunctional, people who love them are taken advantage of, and those seedy, washed out journalists profit.
I share my experience because it involves Grace Rwaramba, who served as the nanny to Michael's three kids. Grace is more than my best friend - I refer to her as my sister, and she thinks of my parents as her own (she actually calls my father papa).
In the last day in the aftermath of Michaels death, recent quotes have surfaced about her life with Michael, as well as speculation about her role in potential custody battles for the three children.
Grace has read this article before I published it.
Michael had a pattern of letting those close to him in and out of his life, and Grace was no exception. Lisa Marie Presley’s reflection on her emotional relationship with Michael expressed beautifully the power Michael had with those he loved. Over the years, Grace faced a similar cycle of wanting to save him and being hurt by him. It was an endless cycle that seemed similar to those faced by friends and families of other addicts. Michael had a knack of surrounding himself with enablers, and avoiding people who wanted to help him like his family, real friends who cared deeply about him, Grace and my father, Deepak Chopra.
Daphne Barak, a so-called journalist who claims to be a friend of the Jackson family and who got to know Grace through them, has been cultivating a friendship with Grace over several years. Unfortunately, the story with Daphne and Grace seems to be one that echoes the vultures that took advantage of Michael throughout his life.
Daphne reached out to Grace a few weeks ago, when she knew she was in a vulnerable place, having recently been let go by Michael yet again (this was a regular pattern). In the 17 years that Grace has worked with Michael, she has never spoken to the press. She loves Michael and his children at her core.
Grace genuinely believed Daphne was her friend who was trying to help her. Daphne had offered to help Grace launch a foundation she was creating to monitor non profit work in Africa. (Grace was originally from Rwanda.) She told Grace that they should record her speaking about the work. However, every time they began to record, her questions would center on Michael. Grace would say she was uncomfortable speaking about him.
On the morning of June 26th, after finding out that Grace was also in London, I rushed to her hotel. She was staying in a suite with Daphne. Daphne told tell me she had invited Grace to stay with her in Switzerland as her guest, and how she had helped Grace with the immediate aftermath of shock hearing about Michael's death. She said that she had spent several thousand dollars to buy a business class ticket for Grace to fly to LA. She boasted about how close she was to the Jackson family, world leaders, etc.
I witnessed Daphne act as a friend while trying to bait information from Grace on her conversations with Jackson family members and friends about his death. She warned Grace that the family was going to try to set her up for Michaels downfall, and that it was critical that Grace speak with a lawyer before leaving. As a friend, she had organized a "lawyer" to get Grace's story before she left for the airport.
In essence, Daphne was setting up a scenario to garner more information from Grace before she left for LA. I discovered that one of her friends who happened to be there had made a documentary on Princess Diana.
When we tried to leave, Daphne screamed at Grace - in front of my young children who began to cry -- that she was an ingrate. She had spent thousands of dollars hosting her, she was her guest, and she wanted to spend the time to say goodbye. (Daphne obviously could not believe her luck that she had baited Grace as a sympathetic friend for stories before he died, and had Grace with her on that sad day.)
Ultimately, Daphne, having obviously drunk a bit much, threatened to release the recordings she had made of their private conversations. Grace was petrified. I held her by the shoulders, looked in her eyes, and said lets just go. So what, let her put it out there. She is a washed up journalist trying to mine a tragic situation. Michael was gone now, and the future is the wellbeing of the children. Grace agreed.
Ultimately, I had to get the hotel manager involved to escort Grace out of the hotel. I also bought Grace's ticket home myself, discovering that Daphne had misled us about the time and the price. It was a 650 Pound economy ticket, not several thousand dollars.
Twenty four hours later, I found that Daphne indeed had written an article full of quotes by Grace for a tabloid magazine. (A quick search of her other work not surprisingly shows she did a recent feature on Amy Winehouse.) Grace's quotes are now being picked up by other tabloids and will find their way into more magazines and articles. (People Magazine is also featuring some today, including the inaccurate claim the Grace pumped Michael's stomach several times. For the record, Grace never pumped Michael's stomach. She has no idea how she would even do such a thing.) Which quotes are true, which are in context, (many are not) to me frankly doesn't matter. I will not be surprised if Daphne releases audios or videos soon.
Grace feels used, insecure and shaken that she could have been so na239;ve, particularly having witnessed so many vultures in Michael's world over the years. She made a mistake. The sad truth is that when you are a celebrity, or a close friend or family of one, in a world of tabloids, you must be impeccable in what you say and to whom. Michael probably faced the epitome of vultures, bloodsuckers and hanger-ons displayed in his endless cycle of managers, enabling doctors, and new business partners. How could anyone blame him for becoming so paranoid in his life?
In the article, Daphne tries to portray a rift between Katherine Jackson and Grace. This is not true.
I would like to go on record, with Grace's permission, to say that Grace firmly hopes that the Jackson family gets custody of Prince, Paris and Michael. It would be detrimental to the children to be separated, and they should be with Michael's family. They should know their grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins, and they should learn about who he was as a person, not just as an icon. She has no interest in custody, and just wants the children to be happy and secure. She will be there for them whenever they need or want her.
As for the appetite for the salacious details of Michael's life, my hope is that we let him go in peace. We already know he led a tortured life. He also led a great one in which he loved, and was loved, by many.
Let his family heal, and let his fans celebrate his music and his giving heart.
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Gotham Chopra
Co-Founder of Liquid Comics
Posted: July 5, 2009 10:23 PM
The last time I spoke to my friend Michael Jackson was about a month ago, 3 weeks before his shocking death. He had called me late one night to ask about another of my close friends who he had read about in the news. Laura Ling, a former colleague and friend, was detained originally by North Korean border guards along with her colleague Euna Lee on March 17th. Since then, they have been imprisoned, had very little contact with their families or western officials, and endured a secretive trial at which they were sentenced to twelve years hard labor. At this present moment, it is unclear where Laura and Euna are – whether they remain in a government guesthouse where they were originally held, in a hospital (due to medical problems for both of them), or moved to the infamous North Korean labor camps that many do not survive.
Michael had read some of the details regarding Laura and Euna’s predicament. As was often the case with him and global events he read about – from famine in Africa to victims of natural disasters in far off countries, to orphans created by wars – he felt a deep sense of empathy for Laura and Euna. When I shared with him that Euna had a four-year-old daughter, he was even more anguished.
He asked me whether I had had any contact with Laura. I told him I had written her a few letters and had been assured they were getting through. Outside of that, her own family had only heard from her twice – brief monitored phonecalls – in the over three months they had been imprisoned. When I told him that, Michael paused.
“Do you think,” he said hesitantly, “that the leader of North Korea could be a fan of mine?”
I didn’t really know how to respond. Not much is known about the reclusive Kim Jong Il or “Dear leader” as he is called in the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea. Over the years it’s been alleged he has a thing for Hollywood, certain NBA stars, Elvis, and specific liqueurs. Still, I’d never heard about any connection between Michael Jackson and Kim Jong Il.
Michael said he had seen some pictures on the internet of the Dear Leader. “You’know, he wears jackets like mine.”
I couldn’t help but laugh a little. It’s true. Michael always had a fascination with military-like jackets, the types with markers and badges on the collars and shoulders. If you search it online, you will indeed find a lot of images of Michael and Kim Jong Il, similarly bedecked in analogous outfits.
“I don’t really know,” I answered Michael. “But I can try and find out.”
“Please,” Michael responded without hesitantly, “because maybe if he was a fan, I could help get those girls home.”
I explained to Michael that there were larger geo-politics involved, nuclear programs, a new administration trying to assert its foreign policy strategy (Obama), and another one in NK possibly going through some sort of transference of power.
“Yeah,” Michael said wistfully, “but if someone wants to do something good, they just can. They don’t really need to worry about all that other stuff.”
And that was really the end of that conversation. I kept my promise and tried to see if I might find a connection between MJ and KJI, but sadly I wasn’t able to. Before I was able to get back to Michael, the news regarding his tragic passing broke. The tributes and commemoratives began in earnest and have not stopped.
Then the irony occurred to me, the far out bizarre seemingly impossible possibility: there is really only one person in the world today that could make a truly meaningful tribute to Michael Jackson. If indeed Kim Jong Il ever was a fan of Michael Jackson, ever gasped at Michael’s moonwalk, smiled at Thriller, hummed along to the Jackson Five or any of Michael’s countess hits, his pardoning of Laura Ling and Euna Lee and sending them home to their families would be a profound act of compassion, a true tribute to a man whose death has left the entire world in mourning. What a better way to re-invent himself and his own conflicted image than for Kim Jong Il to send a message of hope, forgiveness, and empathy as a commemoration of possibly the greatest icon of our times. It’s an act that would be historic, covered by every news organizations in the world, and be immortalized in the annals of time.
Alas, maybe I’m na239;ve to have such dramatic hopes for my friend and her colleague, to think that leaders of nations may be influenced by the dying wishes of great artists. Or…maybe not. To me, Michael’s memory will always be as a great friend and mentor. To many around the world, it will be as an iconic and brilliant musical artist. Wouldn’t it be staggering if one Kim Jong Il were to honor him – post-death – as a truly great humanitarian?
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Gotham Chopra
Co-Founder of Liquid Comics
Posted: June 26, 2009 05:12 AM
When I was in my second year of college living on campus (at Columbia in NYC) with 4 suite mates, every time the phone rang, there was a race to answer it. Everyone wanted to be the guy to hear the "hello" on the other side just in case it was my friend Michael Jackson calling.
Most of those days, Michael was holed up on top of the Four Seasons, roughly 60 blocks away from where I lived on the Upper West Side of Manhattan just near Harlem. I'd happily drift downtown, gain clearance from security downstairs who knew I was allowed free access to Michael's suite, take the elevator all the way up and start ordering room service and watch movies on Mike's tab. Eventually, Michael and I would get down to work. He was working on a new album and asked me to help him write lyrics for songs. It was an informal relationship - I'd wander downtown with a backpack full of dictionaries, and thesauri, and rhyming books. Michael would hum songs and talk about what he wanted to say with the song and we'd try and marry our skillsets and come up with something. We came up with great stuff. Michael swore me to secrecy those days. I happily complied.
After we were done with those sessions - they'd usually go until about 2 AM or so - Michael would wander into the bathroom and come out with a sack he'd pulled out from under the toilet. In it, he kept several thousands of dollars. He'd ask me how much I wanted. I just sort of shrugged and he'd hand me a couple of thousand dollars. Soon, I'd be packing my dictionaries and thesauri and rhyming books in my backpack, calling my friends and telling them to meet me downtown. Within an hour, we'd be at Flashdancers "making it rain."
Michael was always envious when I told him about my adventures with my friends. More than a few times, he'd get dressed up - dawning some sort of quasi-disguise - preparing to go with me, only to back down at the last minute or be held back by his security who would shake their heads and plainly say no to his misguided ambitions. Instead, he'd pour himself a tall glass of orange juice and settle in for the night to watch an old movie on TV, telling me to spend a few extra bucks for him. I happily complied.
My friendship with Michael was very special to me, and I like to think it was the same for him. Over the last few years, it always felt awkward to explain the origins of our friendship - that I met him initially when I was fifteen-years-old and that we instantly hit it off. I'd spend days at his Neverland Ranch, my sister, cousins, or other friends joining us in fantastical stretches filled with candy, arcade rides, late night movies and the absolute best chocolate chip cookies of all times. Likewise he'd visit our house in Massachusetts (he was very close to my father as well) where he'd sleep in the guest room. My mom got a great kick out of the fact that every morning Michael stayed, he'd try to make the bed (very badly) and offer to cook breakfast (very badly). Then when I was about 17, Michael invited me on the road with him - he was heading out to Europe on the biggest rock concert at the time (Dangerous tour) and wanted company. I begged and pleaded with my parents to let me go and they eventually said yes. Not a bad way to spend your summer vacation between junior and senior year of High School.
Over the years, as Michael faced his scandals, I often reflected on my own experiences with him as a teenager. People would ask me if I had endured anything strange or awkward with him. I'd answer truthfully that in all of my years with him, in every single moment, Michael was nothing but dignified and appropriate, never once doing anything that would be deemed scandalous with me. It was really that simple.
Check that. Back to those college days. One night he did call me in a panic. He had just gotten married to Lisa Marie Presley and needed advice - sex advice. He was incredibly nervous and said that he wanted to make sure that Lisa was impressed with his "moves." He asked me if I had any advice. I answered with one word: "foreplay."
"Really?" He answered. "Girls really like that?"
Over the last few years, Michael's and my relationship evolved and matured greatly too. We both became fathers and that was the centerpiece of our most recent conversations the last few months. Returning the favor from my days as his "lyrical advisor," he's the one who monikered my half-Indian, half-Chinese son "The Chindian" which little Krishu Chen Xing Hua Chopra will now forever go by. We'd talk about how great it would be for our kids to grow up together, become as good friends as us, and set the world on fire. Michael admired the fact that I was able to find a wife, keep a wife, and gain her trust. I'd joke it was all about the foreplay! When his daughter Paris befell an accident a few years ago, he called my wife Candice (a physician) pleading for us to come to his house to check her out.
We did - Paris had fallen from a tree and cut herself deeply beneath the eye. Michael was devastated and confessed to me that he felt like the world's worst father. I calmed him as Candice helped Paris get up from the bed where she lay so we could take her to the Emergency room to get some simple stitches. When I advised Michael of the plan, he pulled me into the bathroom, pulled a sack filled with thousands of dollars from beneath the toilet and asked me how much I needed for the Emergency room.
I shook my head: "this one's on me."
RIP in peace my friend.
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Deepak Chopra
Author, Sirius radio host, founder of the Alliance for a New Humanity
Posted: June 26, 2009 01:08 AM
A Tribute to My Friend, Michael Jackson
Michael Jackson will be remembered, most likely, as a shattered icon, a pop genius who wound up a mutant of fame. That's not who I will remember, however. His mixture of mystery, isolation, indulgence, overwhelming global fame, and personal loneliness was intimately known to me. For twenty years I observed every aspect, and as easy as it was to love Michael -- and to want to protect him -- his sudden death yesterday seemed almost fated.
Two days previously he had called me in an upbeat, excited mood. The voice message said, "I've got some really good news to share with you." He was writing a song about the environment, and he wanted me to help informally with the lyrics, as we had done several times before. When I tried to return his call, however, the number was disconnected. (Terminally spooked by his treatment in the press, he changed his phone number often.) So I never got to talk to him, and the music demo he sent me lies on my bedside table as a poignant symbol of an unfinished life.
When we first met, around 1988, I was struck by the combination of charisma and woundedness that surrounded Michael. He would be swarmed by crowds at an airport, perform an exhausting show for three hours, and then sit backstage afterward, as we did one night in Bucharest, drinking bottled water, glancing over some Sufi poetry as I walked into the room, and wanting to meditate.
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That person, whom I considered (at the risk of ridicule) very pure, still survived -- he was reading the poems of Rabindranath Tagore when we talked the last time, two weeks ago. Michael exemplified the paradox of many famous performers, being essentially shy, an introvert who would come to my house and spend most of the evening sitting by himself in a corner with his small children. I never saw less than a loving father when they were together (and wonder now, as anyone close to him would, what will happen to them in the aftermath).
Michael's reluctance to grow up was another part of the paradox. My children adored him, and in return he responded in a childlike way. He declared often, as former child stars do, that he was robbed of his childhood. Considering the monstrously exaggerated value our society places on celebrity, which was showered on Michael without stint, the public was callous to his very real personal pain. It became another tawdry piece of the tabloid Jacko, pictured as a weird changeling and as something far more sinister.
It's not my place to comment on the troubles Michael fell heir to from the past and then amplified by his misguided choices in life. He was surrounded by enablers, including a shameful plethora of M.D.s in Los Angeles and elsewhere who supplied him with prescription drugs. As many times as he would candidly confess that he had a problem, the conversation always ended with a deflection and denial. As I write this paragraph, the reports of drug abuse are spreading across the cable news channels. The instant I heard of his death this afternoon, I had a sinking feeling that prescription drugs would play a key part.
The closest we ever became, perhaps, was when Michael needed a book to sell primarily as a concert souvenir. It would contain pictures for his fans but there would also be a text consisting of short fables. I sat with him for hours while he dreamily wove Aesop-like tales about animals, mixed with words about music and his love of all things musical. This project became Dancing the Dream after I pulled the text together for him, acting strictly as a friend. It was this time together that convinced me of the modus vivendi Michael had devised for himself: to counter the tidal wave of stress that accompanies mega-stardom, he built a private retreat in a fantasy world where pink clouds veiled inner anguish and Peter Pan was a hero, not a pathology.
This compromise with reality gradually became unsustainable. He went to strange lengths to preserve it. Unbounded privilege became another toxic force in his undoing. What began as idiosyncrasy, shyness, and vulnerability was ravaged by obsessions over health, paranoia over security, and an isolation that grew more and more unhealthy. When Michael passed me the music for that last song, the one sitting by my bedside waiting for the right words, the procedure for getting the CD to me rivaled a CIA covert operation in its secrecy.
My memory of Michael Jackson will be as complex and confused as anyone's. His closest friends will close ranks and try to do everything in their power to insure that the good lives after him. Will we be successful in rescuing him after so many years of media distortion? No one can say. I only wanted to put some details on the record in his behalf. My son Gotham traveled with Michael as a roadie on his "Dangerous" tour when he was seventeen. Will it matter that Michael behaved with discipline and impeccable manners around my son? (It sends a shiver to recall something he told Gotham: "I don't want to go out like Marlon Brando. I want to go out like Elvis." Both icons were obsessions of this icon.)
His children's nanny and surrogate mother, Grace Rwaramba , is like another daughter to me. I introduced her to Michael when she was eighteen, a beautiful, heartwarming girl from Rwanda who is now grown up. She kept an eye on him for me and would call me whenever he was down or running too close to the edge. How heartbreaking for Grace that no one's protective instincts and genuine love could avert this tragic day. An hour ago she was sobbing on the telephone from London. As a result, I couldn't help but write this brief remembrance in sadness. But when the shock subsides and a thousand public voices recount Michael's brilliant, joyous, embattled, enigmatic, bizarre trajectory, I hope the word "joyous" is the one that will rise from the ashes and shine as he once did.
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