Saturday, September 15, 2007
The car fumes
The city is just waking
As a dead soul exhumes
Another day new looms
Stands the Khadi Parsi
No change of costume
No bath just the shower
Of the waning monsoon
The day stretches
As Life resumes
They come migratory souls
From different states
Millions thrown up from buses trains
Taxis and jeeps
tearing her heart
Her infrastructure as she weeps
One will become a Sharukh Khan
Another will die on the road
crushed by Alistair Pereira’s car
life is cheap death for keeps
Bangladeshis , Nepalis
They all come to sow to reap
The most dangerous the Jehadis
To bomb, to kill to maim
To destabilize what took years to build
Allah Ho Akbar Jai Shree Ram
Two sides of a single coin
As the Night creeps
As with a shawl
Sleeping bodies sweeps
Dedicated to Frank James Ryan Jr..
My first true American friend
In one corner stands
An American toy
Barbie doll in her hand
She won’t understand
That sepia skinned man yearns
for their lands
Leaving behind his own
His Mother country
Where he was born to misery
In urban blood curdling
El Dorado he seeks
In western badlands
His Karma his Dharma
Entwined to fortune
that his migratory destiny
Constricting his soul
While his body expands
Footprints being squeezed
Into abysmal quick sands
i am hubcap
i am real
i am not real
i am alive
i am not dead
when you comment
or on my soul
or when you tread
i am good i am evil i am matrix
from tweed heads
the mossad the cia even the feds
are after my ass that racists have bled
if you come down under
my power shed
i promise i will
give more than a head
from a man or a woman
a eunuch instead
Not withstanding The Da Vinci Code and other sensationalistic books written for the gullible, Jesus was certainly celibate. When one adds that Jesus' opponents slandered him; that 'eunuch' was sometimes a word of abuse hurled at unmarried men; and that Jesus, like Paul after him, regularly picked up opponents' rebukes, imaginatively remade them, and then handed them back, we may think this: Jesus, upon being jeered as a castrate, responded by inventing a new class of eunuchs, one established by and for heaven." (Dale Allison, The Luminous Dusk, p 69)
He was a young boy
His parents were dead
His uncle had sold him
To the hijdas that’s
What he said
They castrated him
Hands and legs spread
Tied to a perspiring
A wire round his testicles
The fan going
Round and round overhead
The pain the hot oil
He lost consciousness
He was dead
They made him drink
Lots of water
A hollow bleeding and red
For hours hungry unfed
From boy to woman
To hijda instead
The hijda goddess
Clapping his hands
From train to train
Even the cops sped
His spiritual head
He was called chela
He was made to
Sleep with the local goon
The cops the politics
Thus he earned his bread
He sat down side lit
I took his picture
He all coy blushed
Touched me and fled
castrated cry of a hijda
They appproaced my but not to beg, just kiss my hands touch the dust of my feet.This is the power of perception that the Hijda Devadasis have, they know the environment of hate and of love.I gave them a tenner.Requested them for a picture, that they agreed.
The Hijdas fascinate me, was I not into my tailoring business, I would have wandered with this community to learn more about them, but I am shackled to marital domesticity.
Only death can free me?
Laxmi Narayan Tripathi and I have drifted, my domain name on the Hijdas lies without a home, business is in doldrums.My Nikon D70 is at the repairers I had told them to sell it off for me deducting the charges, but no response as yet.So I shoot negatives on my Nikon F100.
Something I picked up on the Devadasis I share with you..
with courtesy of Deccan Herald
Sacrificing life to serve the goddess www.deccanherald.com/archives/jun212005/spectrum105412200...
The Yellamma temple in Savadatti is witness to cruel acts of girl child abandonment and sacrifice. Bharathi Ghanashyam explores the aftermath of the devadasi system.
My visit to the Yellamma temple in Savadatti in April, a month considered off-season, did not coincide with any of the popular fairs that are held there several times a year. In spite of this, however, the atmosphere in and around the temple was festive; hundreds of people seemed to be present. I will not forget my visit for many reasons, not the least of which are the people I encountered and the rituals that are still practiced here.
The temple that houses Goddess Yellamma is at a distance of 72 kms from Belgaum atop the Yellammagudda. After a fairly steep drive uphill, you reach the top only to find that you have to descend from another side to actually reach the temple. The descent is via steep steps seems a great distance.
The entire route down is lined with shops manned or rather ‘womanned’ by girls barely out of their childhood. They look strangely hardened and old beyond their years. Even causal queries are met with suspicion and resentment. Then there are the painted and powdered hijras seemingly all over the place. As you take one weary step after the other on your way down the hill, they thrust trays of kumkum and haldi in your face, and curse under their breath if you don’t respond with money.
The world you encounter as you enter the temple is so surreal it is almost scary. The walls and flooring are thickly encrusted with the red kumkum that has been flung on them over the years. Frenzied devotion is visible everywhere.
There are women milling around and each one is immersed in fulfiling one difficult vow or other taken to appease the Goddess Yellamma. One takes measured steps backwards around the temple, while another rolls herself painfully around the temple prodded on by an obliging relative, and the hijras are dancing, singing and screaming. You see dozens of old women begging and generally lounging around. I ask one of them about herself - a casual friendly enquiry - and see her friend nudging her and saying spitefully, “Don’t say anything to her, she knows everything.” I wonder what I’m supposed to know. The spite in her fills me with dread.
A guide fills me in with details. He tells me the story of devadasis which, though oft told, will stand repetition here. Yellamma, he tells me, is the goddess of the devadasis, loosely translated as ‘slave girls of the gods.’ I ask about the old women who are sitting around. “They are devadasis who can no longer work and are reduced to begging,” he said.
On various auspicious days of the year, scores of young girls are ‘given away’ at the temple in an act of ‘devotion’ to the Goddess Yellamma. The rites that accompany this act are often conducted by hijras who are worshippers of the goddess, which explains their presence in huge numbers. The worship of Yellamma has always been associated with rituals and drama.
In a custom that has come down the ages, devotees of the goddess take vows that should their wishes be fulfiled, their daughters will be ‘given away’ to Yellamma. Some parents pray for the fulfilment of a wish or cure from a disease. Others hope to be blessed with the birth of a son, all in return for their daughter. Some parents cannot afford the dowry to marry off a daughter and find this an easy way out.
Traditionally, the girls sang and danced in temples to please the gods. Today, however, many devadasis end up in the hands of procurers who take them to Bombay, Delhi and other cities, where they are employed as commercial sex workers.
Even as the guide finishes his tale, I find myself at the entrance to the sanctum. I don’t want to enter because it horrifies me that we live in a society which still thinks nothing of little girls being abandoned so cruelly. I don’t know how much of the practice is still alive because the atmosphere around is furtive and it seems everyone is reluctant to talk. The rocks around, however, have more to tell me. They scream out painted messages about the evils of the devadasi system - indicating weak efforts on the part of the government in killing a practice that appears to be very much alive.
It pains me that in spite of the injustice being meted out to women in the name of devotion, women worshippers far outnumber the men here. In protest, I leave the prasad behind. I know it will not make any difference to anyone, but it certainly makes a difference to me.
The temple of Goddess Yellamma is a popular pilgrimage site for shakti devotees. A V S Rao discovers the mythological roots of this centuries-old temple.
Savadatti is a popular place of pilgrimage situated in Belgaum. The temple dedicated to Goddess Yellamma is located here. This Goddess is the tutelary deity of thousands of families in Karnataka, Goa, Andhra Pradesh and Maharashtra. Every day, hundreds of pilgrims visit the temple with great devotion.
The congregation is especially large, crossing the ten lakh mark on two auspicious days – Banada Hunime and Bharathi Hunime. The century-old temple of Yellamma is situated atop Yellamagudda, amidst picturesque Ramalinga Hills about 5 km from Savadatti village. Between Savadatti and the temple is the magnificent fort of Pareshghad, dating back to the 10th century.
The off shoots of Western Ghats which cover this area have given rise to seven hillocks. The seven valleys near Navil Teertha where the serene Malaprabha river flows silently, have been named Yelukolada Yellamma, meaning Yellamma of the Seven Valleys.
The name is mentioned repeatedly as Sugandhavarthi and also as Soundaryavirthi in inscriptions. In the earlier periods, under the rule of the Bhaisas and later the Rattas, it was a celebrated Jain centre. It was also the original capital of the Rattas during the l2th and 13th centuries. When the capital was later shifted to Venunagara, the present city of Belgaum, Savadatti lost its significance as a seat of administration.
According to mythology, Sage Jamadagni and his pious wife Renuka lived in their ashrama near this hillock on the banks of river Malaprabha. On one unfortunate day, Renuka happened to see an amorous couple engaged in water sport. Sage Jamadagni became furious and bade his children to chop off Renuka’s head. None of them agreed except Parasurama, who came forward to carry out his father’s orders. Taking his famous axe, Parasurama cut off his mother’s head.
It was then that Sage Jamadagni calmed down and told Parasurama to ask for a boon for having obeyed his order. As desired by Parasurama, Renuka was resurrected by Jamadagni. Later, Karthavirya killed Sage Jamadagni in order to snatch sway the celestial cow Kamadhenu. Although Jamadagni was revived, his wife Renuka had to suffer widowhood for four days. Pious Renuka was considered as a Shakti deity and was worshiped here as Yellamma Devi. Since then, Yellammagudda has become an important place of pilgrimage.
Just outside the Yellamma temple is the shrine of Kalabhairava of the Nathapanthis. To the west lies the shrine of Parasurama. In front of the temple is a pond cut out of solid rock full of fresh flowing water, which is divided into three smaller ponds called Yenne Honda, Arisina Honda and Kumkuma Honda or Jogula Bavi.
The water in these ponds is believed to possess curative properties. Generally, pilgrims bathe in these ponds before entering the temple. The neem leaves have great significance in this temple. In the olden days, the devotees used to enter the temple almost naked, covering their bodies only with sheaves of neem leaves.
The British Government banned this ritual, stating that it was obscene. Camphor, salt, oil, coconuts and plantains are the main offerings to the goddess. During the time of worship, devotees beat a special drum. A silver palanquin is used to take the goddess in procession around the temple on the evenings of Tuesdays and Fridays. The temple of Yellamma is constructed in ancient Dravidian style, an amalgamation of later Chalukyan and Rashtrakuta styles of architecture, with the usual enclosures and the sanctum sanctorum. There are three main entrances enclosed by high walled compound. The temple itself is devoid of any significant architectural grandeur.
From the historical and architectural point of view, it is believed that the ancient shrine originally belonged to the Jain school of the 16th century, as evidenced by the sculpture on the pillars.
The idol of Yellamma Devi itself in the sanctum does not appear to bear the characteristics and attributes of a Hindu Goddess, as she is holding a lotus flower in her hand, similar to Padmavathi Devi, the Jain Yakshi. One of the edicts discovered in the temple refers to this goddess as Jataka. It is beyond doubt that Jain religious influence played a prominent role at that time. Some scholars are of the opinion that this shrine was originally a Jain Basadi of Parshwanatha Tirthankara, later converted into a Hindu temple after 1250 AD.
During the reign of Krishnadevaraya of Vijayanagar, Tirumala Nayaka, one of the feudatories of the time, is said to have renovated the shrine and beautified it with a Deepa Stambha or lamp pillar and Mahadwara in 1515 AD.
Legends and myths apart, in the olden days, the temple came to be associated with the devadasi cult. However, this bad practice has now been banned by the Government. The annual fair for goddess Yellamma is held in the month of Chaitra which attracts lakhs of pilgrims and visitors.
How to get there
All roads leading to Savadatti during that season resound with noisy refrain of jingles of bullock carts and prayers of pilgrims. Savadatti is only 37 km from Dharwad and 85 km from Belgaum. It is connected by excellent roads from all sides. KSRTC buses and private vans operate regularly in this route. Taxis can be hired from Dharwad or Belgaum. The temple authorities have built a number of rest houses and choultries at Savadatti to provide accommodation to pilgrims and tourists. Belgaum and Dharwad have excellent lodgings facilities for overnight stay.
Flustered hens at the forum
A few men a few in betweens
Searching for a qurom
INSPIRED BY YOONUS S COCK (poem)
THANKS FOR THE FREE PUBLICITY MATE AFTER ALL WE ARE BOTH FROM TWEED HEADS AND BIRDS OF A FEATHER ALWAYS FOCK TOGETHER YOU BLUBBER ME FRENCH LEATHER...MATE HOWS THE WEATHER...TICKLE YOUR ASS WITH A FEATHER THE ENGLISH WAY OF SAYING PARTICULARY NASTY WEATHER I BET DAVID HAZEL KNOWS THIS ONE.. SEE YA.. JUST CALL ME I WILL COME MASTER YOUR ALTERED UNFALTERED EGO MATE.. YOU DINGO RINGO THIRD RATE.. PROPHET OF RACIST HATE.....
his corrupted soul iron plate
he who has no moral courage
but a cowards who hits me
runs to the frangible forum in haste
yes he has no taste
his poetry total waste
you wont even find one that you can cherish
or on your heart
cut copy and paste
son of a dingo
prophet of racist hate
Photographic Society of India Annual Day 2007 /Fuck Nikon D 70
Originally uploaded by flickr photographerno1
Mr Pawaskar and Vilas Gholse had invited me on 29 August 2007 to their 70th Annual day of PSI Mumbai as it is called in short.
These are pictures I shot on negs on my Nikon F100.There were pictures of my Bangalore trip, I had all these processed at Fotofast , and they came in last evening.I do not posseess a digital SLR, so I lose out on immediate topicality.
But having a Nikon D70 is like having a favorite whore that is being fucked by your neigbors son..I have no more abuses left in my arsenal for Nikon.
The Nikon guys are desensitized, their agenda in India is to make big bucks and con the naieve new photographer on the block, their service technicians are also on a singletrack making money on repairing defective Nikon proucts.
Please buy a Canon and at least get better pictures,I never possessed one , but all camera companies are same in the end.They fuck you either way.
Well back to the Annual Day in the picture is Atul Choubey from Jabalpur, a dilgent digital maser artist and a winner photographer, he won the Annual Landscape trophy, and the picture of the Year award..
The official website of PSI Mumbai developed by cyberwhiz Prashant Singh..
relationships full of greed
by color caste and creed
we live let others live
on the cyber higway as we speed
the sounds of soundless nostalgia
says this whispering weed
Hormonal dysfunctional disability
Pretend that they are horny female
At poem hunter forum a transgendered
Circus rubber cocks silicone tits
unshaved pussy shemales
tailor made transvestite
poetic whining and wails
macho poets from down under
Australia going after their tails
Viagra bloated androgynous egos
The toy boy poet trails
Both varieties on a post
Marital bed made of nails
As from one migratory
Another he scales
As with his horrendously
The best of both the world
Of poetry he impales
LANCE 'C0-C0' BEAUFONTE
Lady inmates in a mad house called poem hunter forum
Originally uploaded by flickr photographerno1
Collectively uncured suffering from male vascular referral syndrome
Each lady poet thinks she is man, says the last MRI Scan
One imitates Carter to the T
One is Collins surfing the cyber waves of a Florida Key
Another is Ryan sleepless in Seattle in no hurry
Not hogging the lime light per se
Another lady poet pages and pages
Like a fax machine running unpowered
Inundating the periphery but
Pretends she is a male poet
Residing in the soul of male masculinity
Another female poet thinks she is Hubcap
And another Allen James Saywell
Australian Racist poet calamity
Another Trading blows poetic hilarity
The Dr Beck going form pillar to post
To bring in sanity..
In this Ladies Ward
Of Poetic Pride and Vanity
Poetry a dropp of innocence
In a tear crystallizing a cry
My beloved humanity
Bedraggled souls suffering from diseases of the mind
Excessive poetry like loose motions
Wetting their behinds
Dr Beck takes care of these patients
Yes he is indeed kind to his own faults
Poetically critical but not blind
Abdulaelahi the star performer is at the Holy City
Away from the hustle bustle wrestle
His thoughts of his absence thus remind
Two warring animals at each others throat
In any other political lunatic asylum
You will not find..
The thick skinned pompous poets
Invulnerable to barbs remain unaligned
In one place at one time such
Combustible inflammatory incendiary material
Hating each other but for a love of a madness
Called poetry intertwined
All blacks browns whites pug nosed thus combined
David Hazzle, Micheal Shepherd Howlin
Eagle Hawk Trade Wind Collins Ryan Carter
the best of the best
Of poetic minds
All watching a more crazier loony world
Through Venetian blinds
This is poetry a divine moment
In the bubble like life of mankind
women poets excluded from my thoughts! ! ! ! !
Shah-e-Mardan Sher-e-Yazdan Quwat-e-Parwardigar Lafata Ila Ali La Saif Ila Zulfiqar , originally uploaded by firoze shakir photographerno1 ....
Ek Shahenshah Ne Banake Yeh Haseen Tajmahal Ham Gareebon Ki Mohabbat Ka Udaya Hai Mazak.. , a photo by firoze shakir photographerno1 on Fli...