All About Style

For reasons it alone understands, the venerable Washington Post has been carrying news of the trial of that well-known mirasi, Michael Jackson, in its Style section, along with news about Italian couturiers, French hair-stylists and left-wing academics.

Now why, I ask, would a newspaper do such a thing? After all, the alleged rape of a small child is something that would, in my part of the world anyway, be handled by crime reporters (the lowest of low breeds, the shit-shovelling caste of the media world) not fashion columnists (Brahmins).

Actually, let me rephrase the question. The fact is that none of the Washington Post’s readers seem to think there is anything odd about the trial of a child-abuser featuring in the Style section. The problem of comprehension is, quite clearly, mine alone. Jesustanis are perfectly comfortable with the idea.

For the Jesustani, it would appear, Jackson’s activities are exactly as the Washington Post would have it: a style, a choice, a fashion statement. Jackson uses the enormous loot at his command to have his skin bleached, his hair straightened, his nose reshaped – in other words, to look more like a true Aryan, a member of The Master Race. Jackson also uses a part of his loot to bugger little boys. It is all a question of style.

Now, there is a catch here. It is not as if the Washington Post condones Jackson’s style choices. No one in this land can afford to do so; for all its eccentricities, Jesustan is a highly moral land. Here, as an ancient Greece, Socrates would have been forced to drink hemlock – not, of course, for his ideas (Beloved Leader would have quite approved of some of them) but his sexual choices. As is well known, Jackson and much of ancient Greece had this much in common, except no one in ancient Greece was in a position, so to speak, to hurl the first stone.

Thus, there are morally-acceptable choices – for example psychoanalysis, homosexuality, miscegenation, high-fibre salads – and morally-unacceptable choices, like child abuse, leaving dog-poop on the sidewalk, and red meat. Some choices are borderline, like shagging small furry animals, as long as they are not cats or dogs, both of which are revered by the Jesustanis. Marmots and ferrets are, as far as I can make out, permitted; the loss of one’s virginity to a buffalo, a practice favoured by strapping young peasants in saada Punjab has not yet been ruled upon.

Saala style maar raha hai, is what, I suppose, the Washington Post is telling us. It is all very odd, but there it is: The Master Race has style; I, sadly, do not.