Wednesday, August 15, 2007

Games that Poets Play

A poet is Gods conscience
He describes through words Gods
Godliness extracting the beauty
Of nature mind and men
Rivers running through his pen
Metaphors, hidden unhidden
A poet crushed by financial burdens
Alimony divorce remorse all possible
Ball crushing emotions still speaks sense
Poems are giving back to God
What God gave to men
So it surprises me the contemporary poet
When he rubbishes poetry and talks non sense
I don’t have to be a Ginsburg Amichai Neruda
I don’t need to be Anselm Adam when I see
The world I live in through my lens
I write words as they flow from
My consciousness a world different from yours
So you pompous bag of air why do you take offense?
Matter over mind so dense.
Living in the glory of a Past Tense .
Unlearn the art of living and giving
Before you try mending a fence.
Come out from beneath the mask of you poetic pretense
What more can I say of your multi color hate
Is this not enough in my defense.

Street Kids Yoga at Carter Road,


Street Kids Yoga at Carter Road,


Street Kids Yoga at Carter Road,

Here street kids means those underpriviliged kids who study on the road, the promenade of Bandra s elite Carter Road.Classes here are held in the morning under the guidance of a handicapped senior citizen Mr Singh.
Mr Singh is all alone , but there are volunteers who impart their teaching knowledge to the kids, all seasons including the rains.
The joggers ,walkers pool in , donating money for the kids to buy school books, the kids , well they love this place, their parents work as watch men to celebrity bungalows and buildings that line this waterfront, their mothers work for opulent residents of Pali Hill and Carter Road .
The kids enjoy their pictures being taken but love Mr Singh immensely..The irony is Mr Singh wanted a small place on the promenade for a school for these kids but all appeal fell on deaf ears, yet a political honcho got a book stall ear marked for a disabled person on the promenade ,this is misguided political patronage..
The book stall is coincidentally called Paradise..
These are pictures I shot of their Yoga activities some time back...

Wiladat Bibi Zainab

photo courtesy

www.victorynewsmagazine.com/images/Bibi_in_Mourning.jpg

I think without Bibi Zainab..Karbala what it means to us Shias would have been unknown, though the Oppressors tried to erase the happenings at Karbala , with everything at their disposable ,Karbala would not be buried in the Sands.. it rose as a sandstorm.. weeping blood.. the cries of the children reverbrate in the silence of the Ummayad shame.. Karbala is short cut to God.. a just God.. I am not surprised the amounts spent by the oppressors to distort History..they did with brilliant empty hearted Rhetoric.. Karbala lived in the tunes of a barefeet man who wore black and walked on Ashura.. playing the sepulchral Shenai, Karbala lived not because a great Orator recited the happening to the Aazareen from the Mimber, Karbala lived because of the great Mother Bibi Fatima her covenant with God the Almighty the birth of a race called Shias who for 1400 years relive the tears that fell on the mute and bruised sands of Karbala..yes we are Heretics, yes we are Infidels , yes we are Kaffirs , call us what you want, yes we are Misguided, according to your preposterous dogmas , so be it..if in our Misguidance we bellieve in the Progeny of the Holy Prophet , we weep , we cry we beat our chests, so be it.. we dont ask you to join us, let us be , let us to our omnipresent Pain..your impotent grenades that you lob to shut our lips, does not dent the armoury of our souls.. you cannot flatten the Ya Hussain that gushes out like blood from our bullet wounds..sorry you can kill us but not the cry of our unborn child.. who will be born a Maksade Fatima for a Maksade Hussain..

I dont go to Majlis or listen to the Maulana.. this thought should not be inculcated by other Shias , its my own form of protest, the name of Janabe Zainab I break like earthen pot.. my sorrow wets the dahleez of my existence, when I think of Bibi Sakina like you I too cry.. the sticky kurta blood stained on the parchment of my own soul, Ali Asghar when he looked up at heavens and took Harmullah full in the throat.. a Father who watched it all.. yes honestly this is not an enactment of Passion of Jesus Christ.. we never needed to paint ourself with sangunity , Mr Mel Gibson, we were born sanguine.. we bleed real on Ashura, 10 th of Moharram a single drop of blood on the streets of Mumbai that percolates the pain to other parts of the world.. we all carry Karbala.. which outlives even after our Death..

Our Dead to share this sorrow , all lit up with candles on the tombsones, on the Mounds of earth, on Chelum the 40 th day of Moharram..yes we are Shias a ten percent of the majority of our factionalised Race .. but we are 100 percent believers Of Allah.. if that is our Apostasy , let it be, we wont convert you to our thoughts.. let us be ..and yes a million times yes we are Shias because you love to call us so, we are Muslims..when during the reckless riots we are killed by the same sword.. our houses pillaged , our women deprived of all that they stand for.. yes at that time we are counted as Muslims.. and its a misfortune that our blood seeps into the blood of a Tabbliki too.. but this is the way I see life in todays world .. I am not well read but the emotions that make us what we are were always there in our blood.. I write this today.. on the Birthday of Bibi Janabe Zainab the indomitable single Army of Truth and Justice that even Yazid and his minions could not bend..yes I am a Slave of this Great Lady.. I will give you this excuse for branding me a greater Heretic.. through her Rida.. that they snatched a greater crime than drawing Cartoons of The Holy Prophet,or the decapitation of the Head of his beloved Hussain, , so much more but I fear I will start sounding like a Mullah, I hate Mullah of all breeds.. this is me emptying out my love of Allah ..through the agony of Sham Sham Sham..

March 27th, 2007

photographerno1.wordpress.com/2007/03/27/bibi-zainab-indo...

Its Newspapers and Not News that Sells

the newspapers have to sell..
sensationalize stories that yell
on the mind of the starved reader
cast a magical spell
of rape of a six year child
teacher sodomizes young boy
man cuts arm to appease kali
the only available material
salman khan black buck killing
raise hell
sanjay dutt yerwada jail
in an anda cell
alistair pereira not all well
14 year old raped in car
by cyber cafe owner
on such matter dwell
prostitutes from ukraine
caught soliciting in a delhi hotel
land scam , stamp paper scam
a foul stink and smell
indian news papers excel
main stream media no 1 villain
a forgotten thought in a bubble shell
an outlook on life to repel
in the valley gunda raj
terrorists and some uniformed
military personnel
the poor has no place
on the first page of mumbai times
only king khan Sharukh big bucks
that a cat bell or bimbettes and bombshells
cosmetic enhancements faces that mask well
newspapers dead next moring
as raddi waste resell
a blogger is all truth
makes no money
lives forever on cyberspace
beyond an obituary or a final farewell

Mother India on Independance Day

Happy Independance Day
To those who are living
And to those who gave us
This gift of Freedom
Closed their eyes and passed away
60 years on this day
The andolans the satyagrahas
The sacrifice of departed
Freedom fighters already forgotten today
Encounter killings
Country click fraud
Political pollution
Religious bigotry
Marginalizing minorities
Rich getting richer
Defrauding the Nation today
the branch that we sit on
with our own hands we slay
The little girl sells our countries flag
Tricolor..Tiranga on the streets
Without any destinations on her way
Her smile , her innocence her bloom
And we pay her anyway
From her poverty rises
India a hope a dawn
A dream we Indians
As Indians repay
Outstretched hands of our independence
Not depending on anyone today
Mother India..a mother all the way
Even Gods take shelter in bodies of clay

The Girl Child 60 Years of Freedom

People seem to hate the girl child.
Worst people hate the harshness of my words on the girl child, what I have done to earn their ire fails me, some people shadow boxing on my views on the girl child, sparring over a kind of tree that perhaps does not grow in their garden.
I have a thought why you guys don’t want immigrants from the 3rd world, you don’t want your powdered nose to be dragged into a mire of the stories you read in newspapers.. most of them are true..
I talk of India nothing else concerns me, no, not even China, I know a family living on the streets of Bhendi Bbazar, on the pavement and on the main road, no ambushed by lane, this lady sells gemstones on a charpoy, a cane and twine bed,, she is robust and has about a dozen kids, big ones, the sons are all into drugs, smoking, and the daughters are like canned juice, the glass ones break very fast, the daughters have kids, daughters of course, one of them is about the safe side of 8, but looks grown up. all these folks live on the pavement, just where the best bus comes and empties the passengers every 5 minutes. all seeing the growth of the growing girls, the sons wives too sleep here, funny the sons wives are ugly as sin,. not the original sin.
Every friday I come to the flea market the children start all kinds of poses to tempt me shoot them, a new child and they will literally throw her in my arms for the magic of a photo, so imagine in complete public view 24/7 no walls no windows no doors,, no privacy ..a cage of humanity in an open zoo.
A human zoological garden, this Bhendi Bazar area is like Harlem, slightly meaner no rules, no returns, I am very fond of this 8 yr girl and she will be doing her home work or her granny will be combing her hair I often ask her about her studies and she gives me a beatific smile.
They trust me and I am a spender on stones, I keep my distance, on the pavement sits a somber public lavatory ,where the adults do their business the kids do it on the roads, this family is on the same pavement since 35 years or more, I learnt one golden rule don’t ask too may questions, I haven’t shot this family for about a year now.. and the other headache is the crowds; they just gather around you, a unique Indian quality and wont disperse. If i am shooting they will see that they squeeze into the frame.. as simple as that, now I ask you what is the future of th 8 yr old girl. I wont answer.

Then back at Bandra are the flower girls, the flag girls, the traffic gang kids, real good kids, but they know they have to produce fast ,another kid to add to the labor force, a kid slung on a kids shoulder brings in good healthy returns, I have seen with my inner eyes the very smile of innocence ,chubby kids turn into mothers, and the kids, the little ones 2 or 3months are drugged so they don’t feel the pain.. and what is pain in the dictionary of the underprivileged .
Pain is the name for hunger, here God does not exist, their God is Man who gives them charity and a charity of turning them into adult in a single night. I used to know a guy who could not do if he didn’t sleep with these women, he used to hunt the commercial ones at the up market Juhu beach..

Then you have the depraved middle class migrants, they bring little kids from their home towns and then,, when the wife is away do everything the wife wont do and the kid takes it lying down literally., another problem if you try to mix with the kids then they slap pedophilia charges too, but it exists in Goa, every where, and some get caught some go scott free.., the name of the game is money..
Sometimes the wolf is not a stranger but the school teacher, the relatives and the servants at home,,, demoralize the innocence that it never blooms again, E A my new friend at Buzznet told me too many pictures I post lose their impact.. if it was about impact I would be in bed with the Mrs and cajoling her instead of finger fucking my key board, I cant see the written word.. I can see an image... the imagery of lost childhood. I am not a writer, it all began with, you guys, imagine a dozen words in the sling and I am attacking goliath...the goliath of a sleeping, conscience,

The images for this journal will stun you...as they stun me I put my soul to the view finder,

This was my first written post all in large font when I set out to write the first page of my brand new Buzznet journal ..I have like the Virginia Slims come a long way.. this was written in August 2005.

Buy a Flag Bring Home India Today

15th August
60th Independence Day
Today.
Will last for a day
Like a drop of tear on
Cheek of a nation
Will soon fade away
Each year it comes
To take stock
In shock it moves away
Hindi blaring songs
Aye Mere Watan ke Logon
Mere Desh ki Dharti
Rang de Basanti
Evergreen songs that play away
Politicians hoisting the flag
Jai Hind nothing more to say
Yes from a shanty they have come a long way
400 crores in a few years collected over the years
What a pay rest stashed in a Swiss Bank
By the havala racketeers every day
The child selling our countries Flag
Wakes us from our stupor
Yes its truly Independance Day
Holding our Pride delicately at Traffic signals
Outside the St Peters Church with a grin and smile
They say buy a flag bring home India Today..

Born in Captivity The Indian Girl Child

This is the Indian beggar girl child , I put my Ajmer pictures on hold, I shoot the girl child every Independance day 15th August , my pictures are unique , not for its inherent pictorial value , but for the thoughts in the mind of my little subject , who think I am crazy , jewelled hands, silver stick , blonde hair, or my quintessential turban to hide my poetic pictorial genius from other denizens that also shoot for the press, distorted reality pictures.. it shames me , high end cameras and low end images.
Photojournalism here in this part of Mumbai sucks..
The same names , the same pictures, no poetry no heart in the story of the picture.
The Indian photojournalist has never heard of makeover , the only makeover is the latest company sponsored digital gizmo...creativity is zilch as in zero...
And my photography goes beyond the eye of the camera , I am a father of a girl child , a more well off girl child but the pangs of girlhood the same, the fears, the futuristic fast forward betrayal , when it comes...
I hope not for this child and my own or any one elses.
I am ashamed , yes I am, when I shoot the pride of my love for the girl child through the colors of my countrys flag, as year after year her life wont change , I have shot 11 year girls and seen them as mothers carrying an extended childhood within their wombs.
My second journal post at Buzznet when I was annointed by My American Muse as a jounaler in scrambled English was on a Girl Child and the flag at St Stanislaus school Bandra I never saw her again.
And last evening all the flag sellers gheraoed me at Turner road and warned me not to shoot the kids with the Flags , this is the beggar mafia, and they all know that I dont sell my images, but I was wild and furious and said I will shoot them come what may.. I dont denigrate my Flag or the girl child.. but the Girl child is very special for me on my Independance day...
And this is my salute to her , under the shadow of the Flag that protects her, I am sure the Youth that will once run this Country will do something to alleviate her quintessential problems of growing up of every girl child.
I dont shoot poverty , the smile on the beggar girld child face is her godliness , her wealth and the chastity of her Womanhood.
This morning I shot pictures near St Josephs Convent Bandra , I am hoping to do a series and than revert to my Ajmer trip.
I post today what will be stale by tommorow morning.,..I must thank all at Bloggerspot , and the word verification, a punishment I was made to undergo.. for no fault of mine and yet every post of mine has an anonymous asshole trying to sell me a dream that only exists as car wash in America.
And one day perhaps Mr Biz Stone whom I admire will send me an email who let The Blogs of Photographerno1 out.
And I hope he returns safely from the high seas on the cybernetic seaworthiness of his Yacht.
Mr Brandon Stone without whose guidance I would have never reached the pebbled shores of Bloggerspot and Buzznet ,.
I do not want my pictures of Pain to be sold in the Temple of Commerce...
I am an amateur photographer ... as a senior citizen I should be given the privilige of showing lifes seamlessness ..free without any encumberance.. that was given to me by Mr Steve Haldane at Buzznet for free Buzznet never charged me for upgrades.
5 lac 70000 hits on my homesite tells you that folks do visit me .


Monday, August 14, 2006

And now Flickr has become my homesite by default.

http://www.photographerno1.com

Sare Jahan Se Accha Hindustan Hamara

15th August Independance Day St Peters Church Bandra

This is hand held shot , this was set up for me by the Holy Spirit I think, the dog well , he attends Mass like the rest of the Congregation, he is a wise one, much wiser than those who sin and confess.And he too the Holy Spirit wanted me to shoot, I was dressed in my traditional best , but with a white and silver turban.

And though there are some stares but they know I mean no harm and St Peters Church is as much my parish as theirs., this I shot before I went to the school hall, to shoot the St Stanislaus 15th August celebratiions.

And among all those who read me at Buzznet there is only one lady The Alaskan Fern who is always worried about me , we did share some intimate moments , but we are great friends and soul mates.

And she remembered me as I remembered all my American friends on July 4th 2006.

" I hope that you enjoyed a day filled

with the celebrations of Independence Day in India and that there were many kites flying

and Happiness walking hand in hand with Peace.

Independence day in literature The magical moment of freedom was described by poet Pradeep in film Jagriti> (1954):

मंजिल पे आया मुल्क हर बला को टाल के

सदियों के बाद फिर उड़े बादल गुलाल के

हम लाए हैं तूफ़ान से कश्ती निकाल के

इस देश को रखना मेरे बच्चों सम्भाल के

Translation:

The nation arrived at its destination,

after surviving many

calamities and after several centuries,

celebrated the freedom by throwing

coloured powder

We (the older generation) have steered this ship during the

terrible storms,

You, my children, keep this nation safe.

Literal Translation with Hindi Poetic License:(The nation) reached its goal

after surviving many calamities

At long last, centuries later, did fly

clouds of colour

From within the storm we have brought out the rudder

(ofthe sailing ship) This nation, my children, you must preserve.

(courtesy Wikipedia)

Yes, Firoze, I hope you enjoyed your day."

And this what bonding is all about,thank you Alaskan Fern..

and here I quote Iqbal my favorite


Song No. 4
Sare jahan se achha Hindustan hamara

Ham bulbulen hain uski

woh gulsitan hamara

Parvat woh sabse uncha hamasaya asman ka

Woh Santari hamara woh pasban hamara

Godi men khelti hain jiski hazaron nadiyan

Gulshan hai jinke dum se,

rashk-i-jinan hamara

Mazhab nahin sikhata apas men bair rakhna

Hindi hain hum- watan hai Hindustan hamara-

Iqbal

tanslation

The finest country in the world is our India

We are its nightingales, it is our rose garden;

The highest mountain range,

the neighbour of the sky It is our sentry and our protector;

In its lap sport thousands of rivers,

Which make it a garden that is the envy of the world; R

eligion does not teach us to bear enemity towards one another,

Indians we are all- and our country is India.

kind courtesy www.doonschool.com/songs/s4.htm

Fucked Forums of Hate

Fucked Forums of Hate
Androgynous poets
In this hell hole
Rush where angels fear to mate
More hate procreate
Poetics and poetry discussion
Nothing but poets and poetry berate
Bitching back biting everything
But good upbringing sense of humanity negate
Some good poets most third rate
Some over the hill
Some out of date
Some crooked some gay some straight
Some with over bursting prostate
Some seeking entry at St Peters Gate
Some deep down under with
Multi racial trait
Quote Unquote Misquote
Recriminate
Nothing but the color of a mans
Foreskin debate egos inflate
Women poets menopausal
Tired out teeth grate
Endless wait
No mate
Reiterate
Dehydrated vaginal monologues
Customized Ready Maid
Censorship at Poem hunter
Only includes certain words
Rest outdate
Sparing dickheads
Sparring shitheads
Spearing skinheads
Snaring whiteheads
Snoring catheads
Ideal Soul mate
Common cause interrelate
What’s left confiscate
Enfant terrible mental state
Dried up scorched mind energy
As emulsion on a photographic plate
Piss assed pompous poet trait
Ringleaders ball basher’s overseers
Of other poets making
Poem Hunter their personal estate

Mahalaxmi Dhobhi Ghat /Buzznet Memories

Everytime I go or come from town I pass a huge crowd of foreigners of all color and creed shooting away down below Asia 's largest open air laundry close to the Mahalaxmi suburban railway station.
Every tour operator brings a bus load of these tourists and dumps them here to see dirty linen being washed publically,
Down below the Dhobis or washermen, go about their work, they are gawked at these Bhaiyya migrants from Mulayam country or perhaps Laluland.
I try to shoot these pictures once in a while but than the crowds find me a greater attraction than the Dhobis or the foreigners who stop shooting the dhobis and train their silver pouted cameras on me.. I oblige..

I wish for once Marc Anthony and Steve decide to come down to India...with the cream of Buzznet ,Microsoft could sponsor this trip, anyway Google Earth .have stopped such sponsor ship, I would love to welcome all you guys to Mumbai...
Xris Nat and I pot with a miniature Nikon D70 point and shoot, Pax sun tanned , Sunny with his Indian gal, Ben Bell in lama attire offering Namaskar to all and sundry, Micheal Bell ,, two bells in a row, Mahayani and Yorrik holding hand sweet nothings, Dreadheading and Friar tuck, not talking to me , guess we dont have cranulla or bondi bay in Mumbai...a little ahead Waza with a sledge that looks like an auto rickshah, she has potholes on the road and sitting besides her too..
The Tq1 and Freak Powerticks also enjoying the Mumbai humidity the scorching heat , To love moon is writing poetry on her lap top, the kids are having Ice Golahs,
Scarlet lark is blushing at some kids , Epiphany 229 is barefeet Fuck Shoes,, Azzie and Marc oh they are in total bliss , buddha like smiles, fuck I can see Buzzbot carrying their suitcases, Steve is signing autographs bending like Beckham..behind is a man chained on a leash with Steve , he has a gag in his mouth, wait I think it is my best friend Df duck.. Fuck...
Veron 23 ha ha he has come too not wanting to miss this Tamasha, Pipsykins is holding his hand, Carissa Mcbride well she has latched herself with another colored poet in her home town Atlanta , she missed this trip.
Ribstealer, Ravens Tatyana, Eye lashes, Schvetty betty Funksteena Cosmos all shooting the washer men...at Mahalaxmi..
I heard somebody fighting with a local , Suck What , fuck it is my cute Agony Aunt.. welcome aboard...
I can see Mr Bazookiss and his wife posing ,, for a local tourist who finds them a cute couple..
Can any trip be complete without Tony Pierce and ArtySf well they are there too some new game is being worked ut ... Buzznet Support well they are all masked ..having forgotten my birthday and Emily Dickinsons too they are keeping away from me..
There I can see Wild Orbit too being shot by the Sufi Saint Axa 13
Well this is vintage Photographerno 1 fucking the keyboard of its mindless sleep..
Tom do you like it.. has bought his assistant Obqupunx13 , I can spot Jamieshaef and his parents.. I think Jamie is pointing out to me and to Pax,,, saying to his parents , two cybernetic mis matched souls , but who love Jamie no less no more...
I must have forgotten someone I am all that you have got, I am a total Nobody... the Indiand girls are all running towards two buzznet good loking dudes , one I think is Jonnie in a police officers dress the other I can see clearly causing envy Mr Mohammad from Tehran..
I will rest .
I am Word Pressed.
ps there was some fucked confusion , there was a bomb scare on of the chartered planes bringing the other buzznuts , this group was diverted to Dafur , missed a harrowing attack and just landed , at the Sahar airport I rushed with my cousin Steve .. was greeted by relieved sharing and scaring faces ...
war goddess, quoholet, goodude, carmehumana, heliopo,leirdasim, cooley, sock monkey, arlosmom honeytoes, karen, mad pixel, betty d, touch , all being led out by the master of momentous movements , mans best friend a buzznet healer the one and only Saint Bernie my best friend unslithering Shadow Boxer.

The English liner QE2 had just bought in Aljie the Magician he is waiting for me at the Gateway Pier the same place we met for the first time... not many moons away..

Bloggers Beware..MSM is Dying

I went home to rest , though wife had bought my lunch to shop and she wants me to end my reverie with bald men, honestly I saw a picture in Times of India , a single picture shot by a Sanjay Hadkar showing the Pitru Visarjan, you can see a picture shot to occupy space as a recording of an event , badly composed , no emotions, no nothing and this is the height of pictorial apathy of an editorship of a newspaper aleady gone to seed..
I think one should have some stirring in ones loins to shoot aesthetically even the most mundane event , but hot shot photo journos need only one picture to keep the fires burning at home, I am not touched by conceit but Pitru Visarjan touched me , as I too rever my parents the furnace of love and understanding that any puja for their deceased souls is not enough to appease them and this is Gods honest Truth.
We had stopped the Times of India at home , Samiya reads Mumbai Mirror , so wife did not want to pay for it as it comes free with the Times.. so she has stopped the DNA , which is nothing but a poor cousinly clone of the Times.. Padded young man (Padyuman) Maheshwaris spiel on Blog etiquette in a recent DNA made me wretch like I had become a bilious alcoholic again..try blogging for an year before you write against Blogs..or Bloggers for that matter and try blogging bad words on Sulekha Blogs , the moral brigand of all Blogs in India..Muslim Bloggers and Dogs not allowed, fuck all they have time as Hindus is to write about Confused Muslims.. try living as a Muslim for a few months before you give vent to writings such as this..and try to be a Muslim like me who atleast capture Truth in a religious moment and traditionalism of an a event called Pitru Visarjan, where Google Search does not have two lines on it...
And I would not like to read newspapers at all, but I guess than I would have more wretchedness in my bowels..so it is a release anyway.. I continue with Pitru Visarjan from my new folder..

Pitru Visarjan at Banganga

Pitru Visarjan is a puja that takes place at Banganga tank at Walkeshwar on this day for the liberation of deceased ancestors, and the entire migrant community from the northern belt of Uttar Pradesh and Bihar , comes here and shave of their scalps, moustache, beards , underarms, and at the edge of the Banga a litany begins , and the Pandit or Pujari , directs the Puja and the prasadam is placed in the waters and a holy dip taken..
This begins in the morning and continues till noon, I was to catch up with Mr Shrikanth Malushte from Grant Road Station at about 8.30 am, but as I had left my house at 7 am, I cancelled the meet and proceeded on my own from there,,to Banganga and I was dressed in my Sadhu attire and barefeet and was greeted with chants of Har Har Mahadev as I wore my leopard skin printed cloth sleeveless jacket and the entire area was like a festive fair , I shot a 1 Gb card and than walked from Banganga to Napean Sea Road Maheshwari House to touch the feet of my mentor Mr KG Maheshwari and spent some quality time with him, his driver shot our pictures.. and taking a train from Grant Road I returned home.. so I begin another series of an Hindu ethos..
www.photographerno1.com

Eid Ul Fitr Namaz Bandra Station 2018

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