The Little Masseur Boy Poetic Prose
Originally uploaded by firoze shakir photographerno1
At the Mahim Dargah one feature that misses people enwrapped in spirituality of the Holy Saints , is the misery but living life with a smile .. The underbelly of existence of the Little Masseur Boy.
His little fingers kneading the calves of man, he told me had come from Uttar Pradesh, he and his friend without ticket, but with plenty of peanuts and Hope.
This is Mumbai. Mother of all Destinations.
I am told my Dad Mohamed Shakir came here at the age of 14, to try out his luck , he could not take the suffocation of a decadent society of the city of his birth Lucknow. I don’t blame him, he was a self made man.
I sometimes wonder even the most underprivileged Maharashtrian will not leave his mother state..But I respect the migrant from the North an adventurer , with guts and the reason of making it big, becoming one as Marathi Manoos.
My wife used to pester me lets buy a small place in Lucknow , as she hails from this city, but I was not financially stable enough to acquiesce to her wish….
But I like I one thing about my wife Afshaan, she could read my inner feelings she told me one day I think you should get yourself a small place in Ajmer ..I was shocked as how she could reach the deep crevice of my soul..
I also know that she knew that though I do not adhere to Sufi beliefs.. I have a special regard for Ajmer Sharif a city of Hope Peace and Harmony.. A city you come in any color of your faith but go back as a cherished Indian.,.
Yes in a way my Indianess is the color of my inherent Faith..
When I spoke to Peersaab Fakhru Miya of Hujra No6 and told him my travails and my persecution at the hands of bigotry, he said just one word, come and do your Chehlum with us..
This is one reason that I love Ajmer.
I have till date never entered the Inner Sanctum of the Holy Saint .
Yes I am not a clean Man.
I also pray to the Almighty each time I get to see Karbala , I would want someone better and more devout to take my place.
My Karbala is in my Indian heart .
The one place that makes me shed tears and I would want to see it once before I die is Damascus.. Sham.
I would like to see the place where Islam was shamed.
I fail too understand why can a sinner not have words for what he loves more than his life., why have I to be a scholar , to understand my love for Ahle Bait and Allah.
I think the entire universe of wisdom in our Holy Book lies hidden in a Nukta.. or a full stop..
So now you know even a picture of a Masseur boy can throw you away miles away into
A world.. poetic nature of mans unending Prose…
little masseur boy
massaging the body of
tired evil man
rickety bones
shamed spirituality
penitence without poise
yes transported
into a forbidden world
on the dark mahim beach front
yes innocence has lost its voice
with just rs 50 for a full
body massage
there is nothing left
for the fleshy soul to rejoice..
