For those not curious how life was lived in the ’70s and the ’80s, this column is a damp squib. — Dawn

For those not curious how life was lived in the ’70s and the ’80s, this column is a damp squib. Maybe they were not born; or were too young to really build up a memory chest. But others may remember the woman who married the ‘Six million dollar man’ and became Farrah Fawcett Majors; Jacko the king of pop; KO the Star columnist who churned and churned readable stuff; and Arshad Sami Khan who turned his 10-year-old into a musical genius.

The four have one thing in common: death. Three died on the same day (Farrah Fawcett, Michael Jackson and Kaleem Omar) while Adnan Sami Khan’s father passed away three days earlier. Fawcett and Michael Jackson died in Los Angeles, KO died in Karachi (the city he loved) and Arshad S. Khan died in Mumbai.

The thread that runs through the four departed is art, creativity and entertainment. And it connects with every Pakistani and American whose lives the four touched in one way or another. ‘Call no man happy until he is dead’ said the ancient Greeks. For them a ‘life lived well was a life rounded off, consummated even, in a noble or appropriate death.’ Put more simply, it means that the dead who are glorified in stories, anecdotes, write-ups and fond references are the ‘happiest.’

Farrah Fawcett, 62, swept the world with her magic. ‘Sex symbol’. ‘Beauty’. ‘Pinup queen’. The titles describe a woman whose impact on ‘our culture crossed media and demographics, tantalising men and giving women a daring, ultra-feminine role model’ said one TV commentator as he announced her death due to cancer. The New York Times in its obituary wrote of her ‘good looks and signature flowing hairstyle’ which ‘influenced a generation of women and, beginning with a celebrated pinup poster, bewitched a generation of men.’

It was the early ’70s when her husband Lee Majors starred in the ‘Six million dollar man’ that PTV broadcast each week to the thrill of thousands who loved to watch Majors perform feats of a superman. He became a pop culture icon of the 70s like his wife Fawcett. A spin-off series of the show called ‘The Bionic Woman’ was also a big hit in Pakistan. Anyone coming to America was asked to bring back posters of the power couple – Fawcett and Majors. But more importantly, women like myself would turn up at the hairdressers carting a photo of Fawcett, asking for a layered cut and blow dry exactly like the windswept tousled Charlie’s Angel.

Four hours into the death of Fawcett, we hear the ‘King of Pop’ being declared dead in LA. He was to turn 51 in August and was training for a mega concert in London to celebrate his birthday. His death is being probed as I write. The family refuses to accept that he died due to an overuse of prescription drugs. But sources close to him reveal that he was in poor shape, barely 100 lbs and looked very fragile. The world adored this waif-looking genius whose songs and dancing rocked the eighties as never before. I remember interviewing many Jackson look-alikes in Karachi who aped every dance movement of the singer and succeeded in looking like him.

For party animals in the 80s, nothing was more popular than Michael Jackson’s pop songs. The private parties, discos, beach parties and private homes played his music non-stop. We were delighted when a smart aleck in either Benazir Bhutto’s government or Nawaz Sharif’s (I forget, was it Sheikh Rashid?) who announced one fine day that Jackson and Madonna were to perform a concert in Pakistan! The news hit the headlines and the minister (whoever the guy was) became the most quoted in the media, until it turned out that the whole thing was a joke, a set up.

Jackson’s death caused chaos on the Internet. Google thought it was under attack as millions searched for the latest information on his demise. ‘Very soon after his death, search volumes were so high that our systems suspected a coordinated spam attack,’ a spokesman told the media. He said that during the last 24 hours, an astonishing half of all searches in the US were related to Jackson. ‘Farrah Fawcett-Majors picked the wrong day to expire: she only got five percent of searches.’ Fawcett and her long-time companion and father of her son Ryan O’Neal were to marry before she succumbed to cancer. But that never could materialise. Their son was not present at her deathbed. He is in jail for drugs.

That same evening one read the Dawn to discover that Kaleem Omar, 72, had suffered a fatal heart attack. KO as we called him during the Star days was too serious for the rowdy lot that surrounded him in the newsroom. He would simply be pounding away at his typewriter, only looking up to light yet another cigarette or ask of the umpteenth cup of tea. Within hours he’d roll out his sheets of paper from the typewriter, giving one fleeting look at the numerous pages and march off to the editor’s room looking smug (or so we thought then). KO was educated, sophisticated and bordering on brilliance. He didn’t have a mean bone in him. Today, were you to scan old copies of the Star, now sadly put out of publication, you’d notice Kaleem Omar’s byline on almost all the pages! When Benazir became the PM for the first time, she gave an exclusive to KO. He was a great fan of BB’s. Soon the staff at Star said goodbye to KO who was invited by the PM to become her media advisor and move to Islamabad. KO, always dressed in black or grey shalwar kamiz with a black waistcoat, looked real happy for once in his life. But his happiness was short-lived. He was back in our midst soon. We never did find why his new assignment didn’t work out. KO had moved to The News years ago and died with his last column hot off the press.

Arshad Sami Khan too is dead. He was suffering from pancreatic cancer and was under treatment in a hospital in Mumbai where his son Adnan Sami Khan lives. ‘I am not afraid’ said Adnan when I asked him last January how he was coping with death threats after the Mumbai attacks. ‘I’m the son of a war hero.’ Adnan moved to Mumbai 10 years ago but never lost touch with his parents whom he adores. His father was his life. The musical talent that the son possesses was passed down by his dad who not only encouraged his son early in life to experiment with different genres but was himself a composer of jazz and classical music. He leaves behind a wonderful first-person memoir Three presidents and an aide launched last year.

With each death, the golden memories that made the ’70s and the ’80s so memorable fade into oblivion forever.
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