Saturday, July 31, 2010

The Girl Child And Hope

135,633 items / 1,044,203 views

She saw me shooting the beggars in this narrow winding lane she came up to me and said Uncle why dont you take my picture as a contrast to the woeful surrounding around her she was like a rose of hope in sunshine with some rain.

I shot her picture and I dont think before I shoot I hate wasting time no composition no rules street photography is about breaking flouting rules to show you the true face of humanity as it sells its pain like a commodity on the roads.

Some throw a coin move ahead , some just move ahead dont throw coins, they detest beggars and some tell me quite emphatically Muslim beggars are disgrace to Muslim society.. of course they dont say that Muslim society has beggars running around asking for fat donations to build a new mosque or madrsa.

Anyway this post is about the little child and hope and I will take a U turn forget about the beggars that form the setting of this blog.

Muslim girls are vulnerable and are trustworthy so they come to harm like the case of the serial rapist at Nehru Nagar Kurla.

And it is up to the parents to teach them to stay away and not inter act with strangers completely.

The person who preys on children is normally the nice kind uncle and he can look like anyone including me.

But in most cases in the slums parents forget this important dictum as they are both working making ends meet.. its the tragedy of our life.

In some cases it is the mother who is a single parent works in many houses as a maid because the husband is a wife beater and alcoholic this is a case I am aware of but she wont complain to the cops she loves her husband far too much he is not loaded or rich like the media addictive husband in the news one hears about.

She has a few kids and has to leave them at home alone and one or two have injured themselves seriously but as I said there is no escape.

So this little girl I did not know whose picture I shot on request taught me a lesson of life in pain but also a smile that said Uncle dont worry Good is Great he protects me all time and he is hope embedded in my shadow.

So I have poetized a street picture in prose....but I hope you read it like a poem of life in bloom.

The Muslim Ethos Lives In a Ghetto of Despair

135,632 items / 1,043,654 views

the rich muslims
live in mansions
opulent hi rise towers
grandeur wealth
grand affair
the muslim poor
the muslism ethos
lives in a ghetto
of despair caught
in a vicious
grip of a snare
doomed destiny
a tragedy
beyond compare
our leader
god bless
their souls
play the violin
as they are
politicians netas
to their party
the mullah
god bless
their souls too
are happy
more mosques
more madrasas
for the widow
the orphan
the destitute
no one has
time to spare
luckily we here
in Mumbai
are Muslims
our sectarian
we do not bare
be it the riots
the serial blast
we get hit
as muslims
no shia
no sunni
no tabbliki
no whabbi
our houses
our business
burnt destroyed
but we are
we silently
offer a prayer
for peace
mutual coexistence
life is unfair

The Silhouette of Muslim Womanhood

135,631 items / 1,043,431 views

the silhouette of her soul
the silhouette of muslim
womanhood as whole
within the silhouette
of the hijab lies
her tradition
her ancestry
her goal
a garment
of modesty
her life under
her control
a piece of cloth
of her virtuosity
a fabric colored
blackish coal

The Race Of Life Never Ends

135,629 items / 1,043,424 views

a cycle
of motion
within a cycle
of emotion
birth the beginning
death the final solution
some call it evolution
on the soul of a revolution
man a drop in an ocean


Tysa Konstacja

The Quintessential Unessential School Bag

135,627 items / 1,043,410 views

the brain
of a child
is a school bag
he stores
a fact
only our
does not know
kilos of books
weighing a ton
a punishment
he undergoes
back bent
he is an old man
in childhood throes
my own childhood
the weight
of my school bag
in a frame
of a picture
i froze
my children
carried it too
my grand daughter
marziya carries
it now
this is karmic
from one
into the next
it flows
the teachers nose
no one to oppose

The Hijab A Dress Code Overblown

135,626 items / 1,043,396 views

Randy Der so much bullshit about a womens choice of clothing...its more fear mongering from the west to the east..

as a liberal modern day living muslim
i feel the hijab a dress code overblown
the muslim woman wears the hijab
its the western world that takes offense
loves to groan and moan
perhaps they are scared it might
become a fashion statement
their women would love to own
fully covered from head to toe
within the silhouette of the hijab
a woman not alone this
could be the only reason
why they want to criminalize it
burn it ban it bury it
beneath a tombstone
the hijab a fury of their
fear psychosis hits
them like a cyclone
bad governance
economic problems
on the back burner
its the hijab
for their own sins
they want it to atone
the hijab the only garment
they are far too scared to clone
the hijab the muslim womans
safety zone spiritual enlightenment
not willing to be dethroned
the hijab beyond the danger zone

I am a Defunct Poet Of Mumbai

135,623 items / 1,043,377 views

born each morning
on the internet
at the stroke
of midnight
i die
the defunct poet
of mumbai
cobbled up
boot polished
i wont deny
the cobbler
poet of mumbai
the same words
over and over again
in the same oil
i fry
a cooked up poem
a burnt out passion
to the masses
i supply
i am a caterer
poet of mumbai
the same thread
of words
the same weft
warp of a fabric
as a poem
i restitch
color and dye
i am a tailor
made poet
of mumbai

will read me
ignore me
its their prerogative
their choice
but in the tear
of a beggar
through 'a picture
i carried
their voice
i gave dignity
to the hijra
from bad to verse
i had
no choice
through a picture
of their angst
i showed
you the world
of the lady boys
poetic pathos
agony anguish
hobsons choice

Wandering In The City of Pain

135,622 items / 1,043,033 views

her pain
was greater than mine
though to her pain
she was resigned
i read through a sign
a thought interpreted
now poetic online
my pain her pain
anguish pathos
poetry combined
the creator created
bad times designed
the curse of mankind
eyes open blind
on the soul
of humanity

A Cry of Anguish

135,621 items / 1,043,032 views

a cry
of anguish
searching for hope
his final death wish
as he begs for a living
a borrowed life not his

The Ultimate Poetry of Pain

135,620 items / 1,043,007 views

what if
i placed you
where she sits
your palm
stretched out
a few coins
on your fate
they spit
that human pain
has lit
now get up
in the role
of a beggar
you do not fit
such is pain
in a pit
closely knit
god created it
but as a poet
through a
her pain
i tried to edit
she said
sir pain
the only commodity
in great supply
now why should
you buy it
i shot
a moment
in time
i got hit

Excavating A Dead Poets Grave

135,618 items / 1,042,892 views

he was a road bound
gutter bred poet
he wrote pictorially
poems on the internet
he had not been published
in paper back or hardbound
no coffee book yet
he died a violent death
he came under
a hand cart
they hastily
buried him
in an open gutter
almost missing
the communal toilet
bevda municipal grave diggers
are now searching
for his grave to pay
him tribute
for all he gave free
his blood poetry and sweat
marc zuckerburg
has offered a suitable
reward for leaking
his profile with regret
a facebook poet of mumbai
no hijab no jesus poetry
no hijra poetry
just a faint line
his spiritual
at flickr
at twitter
he came
he saw
he went
in the reader
the viewers debt
a room with a view
to let my last will
my poetic testament

to my dear friend rajiv soni for his support he was in mumbai yesterday but we never met , rajiv was busy interviewing a bollywood poetess

Dont Touch Me

135,617 items / 1,042,880 views

she lay on the bed
drawing claw like
nails dont
touch me she said
slithering sensuality
turning her face red
she a hot
blooded pathan
nubile nebulously
nocturnal her look
tore me to shred
but when I switched
on the light
I almost dropped dead
she was a transvestite
a tail you have read
through my earlier poems
now continued ahead
I told her in no easy
terms it was not possible
for me to get wed
from her boudoir
like a bird in flight
in oxymoron haste
I fled and caught
up with my friends
at cafe Leopold
joel posey roland
good old fred
I told them my
love story
bullet holes
on my ass
bullet holes

the transvestites tale continues the beauty from across the border i had one night met on the internet a one night stand more body less head ...a Barmecides feast minus the spread

Its Better To Be Human Than To Be Divine

Its Better To Be Human Than To Be Divine

135,616 items / 1,042,795 views

we can be good
we can be rich
we can be kind
we can be charitable
hospitable divine
but it is all water
over a ducks ass
if we cant be human
we lose peace of mind
the soul of mankind
god given eyes
but to pain
of others we are blind
we show we help
others pretentious
a thought
that slips our mind
so god created
salman khan
with human flaws
within his soul
the love
of humanity
he defined
salman told
the blind beggar
you lead
I follow
from behind
our paths
our collective

Salman Khan
in gratitude and humility


All the pictures of Salman Khan I shot from posters at Mr Boney Kapoors office , when I went to see Mr Vinod Talwar my dear friend..

I pay salute to the original photographer who shot this I have merely reproduced the original and tweaked it with a poetic thought.

Friday, July 30, 2010

Shooting Pain On The Streets

135,615 items / 1,042,487 views

who is he
what is his
life story
you nor i will
ever know
pain is a cactus
that needs only
pain to grow
living at other
peoples door
older than
the story
of man
is pain
as it clings
like a body sore
killing him softly softly
he cant even say no more
pain the only commodity
you get it free as you
hit the floor pain
a whimper and a roar
pain a painful musical score
in a picture or in real life
pain relived as before

In Defense of the Hijab

135,614 items / 1,042,362 views

My late mother Shamim Shakir wore the chador .

My maternal grand mother Nazmi Begum widow of Daroga Nabban Saab wore the burkha.My maternal grandmother hardly left her house at Pata Nala Lucknow .Her husband Daroga Nabban Saab was related to poet Mir Anis and was himself a poet too
My grand mother was his second wife.

My paternal grand mother Khurshed Baji was a Shia Momin she married a Sunni wealthy vinegar merchant who not only left his house and his wealth but became a Shia too.
We are offshoots of his Faith in Humanity we call it Shiasm.
My paternal grand mother was from Vazir Ganj and remained unmarried when her husband predeceased her His name was Bashir Hussain.
My grand mother wore the burkha.
Her companion Chanda Begum wore the chador.

My daughter in laws wear the burkha my wife wears the Chador and the Hijab sometimes she wears the fully covered hijab too I have to shoot her one day.

So I have been literally been bought up on the hijab.. and I think it has a right to live it is a symbol of peace and our Womanhood of Islam.

My grand daughter Marziya Shakir wears the head scarf and the hijab too and she is two and a half years old.

So I defend the hijab poetically spiritually and morally too.

I do it for both my grand mothers my mother my wife and my women folk.

Go Take A Hike

135,613 items / 1,042,351 views

a muslim woman
wears a dress
of the hijab
you dont like
my reply to you
go take a hike
she need not
dress like you
your atrocious
revealing dress sense
her soul does not strike
wearing the hijab
the muslim womans
collective ethos
a universality
a solidarity
of her womanhood
to look alike

Wading Through Memories Of The Past

135,612 items / 1,042,311 views

cloudy hopes
the memories
of the past
billowing winds
a paper boat
without a mast
as it flows
into the gutters
of despair
the die is cast
best friends
all gone away
the soul
of solitude
long last
at dawn
only time
the soul
of humanity
will outlast
only your
your corner stone
will give evidence
of your wealth
you had greedily
into another mans
they have passed
even the worms
that are eating
your flesh and bones
treat you
like an outcast
when you
lived the music
revelry good times
the blast
you have now
come to terms
with your
'true self at last
within the soul
of a wet soggy

Mumbai Rains

135,611 items / 1,042,056 views

The Arabs Middle Eastern folks were the first foreigners in modern times who discovered the Mumbai rains , for us Mumbaikars we are Mumbaikars now earlier we were Bombayites , it did not matter much we were quite used to the vagaries of monsoonal showers in our city.

The Arabs who stayed at the seedy lodges Grants building Kamla Mansions at Arthur Bunder Road loved the rains the buggy rides and once they got tired humping the local whores at Slip Disc it was the rains that caught their fancy.

They made love to the rains drenched to the bones eating Bhutta Seng channa hounded by a colorful crowd at Gateway of India, the snake and mongoose performer, the roadside photowallah, the quintessential Mereweather road pimp , who stood outside the Salvation army Hostel he supplied drugs too and was part time money changer we jovially called Abdul Kanya.

The Arabs were misers and you cant blame them they were always preyed and conned at Colaba Causway the thieves paradise , they hung around the lane behind Taj Mahal hotel and had their meals at Baghdadi Hotel or at Olympia close to Cafe Leopold.

They loved to tipple at Gables or Wales where I too drank beers and ate Goan food at the next door restaurant.

Most of the Arabs in the 70s came for treatment and the most famous was Dr Waghela at Mohini Mansions Strand cinema where we stayed even his compounder started speaking Arabic and such was his change in personality that he would greet me in Arabic too,I had recently returned from Muscat .

Colaba was the Arab haunt you could never miss them at the Colaba Fish market buying prawns that they asked their hotel guys to cook and promfrets too.

So many guest houses had only Arab clientele Gulmohar Guest house and they were all around you with their burka clad women in tow.

Outside Arthur Bunder Road they had their portrait hand drawn and painted ..before the Internet era.

My dad had a shop at Grants building Smart Wear Tailors and they would come to make safaris and kanduras.

They ate a lot of fruits , seekh kababs at Sindhi Kabab corner at Strand House and would taste the Sindhi pan sellers sweet pan too.

And Raj Sippy Romu Sippy and their dad , the famous Sippys who were incorrigible foodies ate at the Sindih Kabab corner watched them bemusedly ..a little ahead Rehman Saab Guru Dutts favorite actor helped the poor and the needy with his wife later he died of throat cancer..

Ekta Kapoors mom Shobhaji stayed at Anjali Apartments ..

And her dad Jeetendra in his struggling days stayed at Usha Sadan , Mr Prem Chopra is a Usha Sadan guy too.

Near the 5 NO Bus stop opposite the church at Colaba stayed Nutanji and her family.

Mohnesh was a good friend as Kimi Katkar his ex flame stayed near my house at Strand.

Erwin Vaz Philip Vaz sons of Chic Choc lit stayed in the next building next to Mohneshs house.

And so sitting in this ricksha on a rainy day in Mumbai I was thrown into a world of the past vignettes I share with you.

Did You Let My Blogs Out?

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The only place in Bandra visited by people of all caste color or community is this service road which touches one end of Bazar road to another road of Bazar Road , and the poor mans Jesus lives here on a gutter without complaining without making a hue and cry..

Most of the time the gutter that houses the collective shit of humanity overflows , but Jesus carries on with a faint smile on his lips as I narrate his worldly woes.

I shoot the overflowing gutters because as a human being it hurts me seeing this apathy , this laid back attitude of people concerned.

But now let me tell you there has been a change recently , the gutter the one in front of Jesus feet has been regularly cleaned and a new concrete cover replaced , the old one was stolen by some drug addicts called gardulas in our colloquial lingo.

I pass this way nowadays instead of the slum path I took to go to my workplace or took Marziya to school..I stopped going through the slum path completely.

This service path is private property perhaps I dont know but only two wheelers and pedestrians are allowed.

In common parlance it is a short cut for the common man the middle rich class.. without a car.

And me I dont know what I should call myself I walk I have no car never needed one , once I sold my car to pay the deficit on my home loan..I never bought a car and never will the reason is a crazy one I dream I am running over the producers who got work done by me and never paid me till date ..and it is a scary horror dream..and being locked up in an Anda cell ...for pre mediated murder with intent to kill.

So such is a poets life on a slow track..the internet destroyed me completely and worse was being a fall guy , poets fall continuously in and out of love on the Internet.

So sometimes I seem to agree with dear Lucky Ali one woman is not enough in a single mans life and I say this without my wife overhearing it she is fast asleep.

Love on the internet made me a wordsmith cobbled up words as poetry, made me vociferously vocal in terms of blogging

Buzznet the old one not the new one made me a Blogger and Biz Stone when he was at Blogspot now he is full time Twitter..

Biz Stone sent me a message he is keen on coming to India to meet the Bollywood seniors and brats.and last but not the least own own Indian micro blogging pride Mr Shahsi Tharoor..
Biz Stone cant stop talking about Shashiji.

Who let the Blogs out by Biz Stone was my bible as a newbie blogger and I will now tell you all it was none but Biz Stone who made me incombustible blogger fire no brimstone.

So this is a blog it has no purpose it is a writing tool it gets you out into the open no reject slips or editorial embarrassments fuck grammar and syntax.,..and you know the guy reading you does not even read English he only loves your pictures.

And the only person who calls me a lousy photographer is my wife a burkha clad woman and all my poems in defense of the burkha are my tribute to her for 33 years of our married life.

The Silhouette of my marital sanity in the silhouette of a hijab..and I must tell you Jesus likes me too as all my stuff poetically written about him comes from my genre I call Jesus Poetry.

Back to my wife my simple humble one in a million wife ..

Her complaints go like this first why dont I make money like other photographers do..

Where will all this blogging slogging take you , you are still where you are shooting the same things over and over and over and over again...

When I tell her if ever now I dont, that I am going to shoot Mount Mary , she blurts out with stupid quizzical corny kind of face look , did you not shoot it last week, I nod my head , the week before that I nod my head , she continues did you not shoot it last year I dont nod my head I simply bang the door and go out and shoot Mother Mary for the n th time of my life on earth.

Than the other problem she tells me why dont your pictures come in the newspapers do you really have to mow down a producer to have your picture on the first page ..I keep solemnly silent.
Than with a rolling stick in hand she tells me instead of photography why did you not learn driving you could take me to La Vassa , Amboli Waterfalls ..Than she threw the rolling pin at me when I said she should learn photography we could both be shooting pictures of the same thing over and over and over and over again.

Does this happen to you or is this a bloggers rant /?

Only Friar Tuck my old mate from Woolongong could answer this.

And now I will get serious I have in this 6 years of my blogging shelf life seen , that I have great quality friends on the internet , I have never met or may not even meet , friends that have stood by me commented on my stuff and in spite of a gaping distant I still cling to the for life..

My oldest friends on the Internet without them I could have never become a blogger are my Buzznet friends the best of the best..and we are not Buzznet Refugees we are Flickr mates and die hard Facebook friends.

So this post is dedicated to Marc Brown Azzie Anthony Batt Steve Haldane Buzznet Founders.
Yorrik Friar Dread Heading Mahayani Aljie Bernie Benn Silver Bell Duck, Pax Romana Waza Drunk Xris Taylor Funksteena Wild Orbit Artsy SF Tom Andrews Jamieshaef Obqupunx 13 and so many others I have lost track with.

Why Jesus Came To India

135,609 items / 1,041,962 views

was sick and tired
of the western way
so he traveled
through the himalayas
through the ganges
made his home
here to stay
he liked india
the indian ethos
in every way
the people here
kind human
not astray
jesus in
is not
the jesus
hung as statue
in a church
they say
he is on the streets
giving succor
to people
makes them ok
jesus is a spirit
of humanity
in india
color or creed
to whichever
god you may pray
here in my
jesus is talking
to the common man
no he is not sachin tichkule
listening to his pain
as they pass his way
jesus loves children
but not in the same way
by cassocked men
in a lustful way
destroying his name
his preachings
his mission
on a rock
he built
on hope
rough winds
have blown away
jesus is mother theresa
who passed away
jesus is a helping hand
at the end of the day
jesus is love
have to find
to find
his way
if not today

A Poets Pain

135,608 items / 1,041,271 views

i sleep
i wake up
with the
of a dagger
on my throat
a poet
in the garb
of a sacrificial goat
to smote
finally when
the hour comes
will be remembered
for the losing
he fought
in a world
of the bank note
a poets life
a sorrow bound
to a lyrical
lost note
he memorized
it by rote
to a blog
a straw
kept him

Humanity On The Soul of Salman

135,606 items / 1,041,217 views

feeling the pain
of the poor
the needy
the helpless
the homeless
on the soul
of salman
be human
showing light
to the blind man
lodged in the
heart of a galaxy
son of salma
salim khan
he gives
he gives
much as he can
sweeping away a
tear from
the crying
eyes of a man
women children
pray for him
a long life
early marriage
innumerable kids
no family plan
his children
their children
in a crooked world
their savior
a straight man
the promo
of dabbang
with arbaz sohail
in his vanity van

Racism On The Soul of The Hijab

135,604 items / 1,041,182 views

Collective fear stimulates herd instinct, and tends to produce ferocity toward those who are not regarded as members of the herd. ~
Bertrand Russel

~ Racism does not limit itself to biology or economics or psychology or metaphysics; it attacks along many fronts and in many forms, deploying whatever is at hand, and even what is not, inventing when the need arises. ~ Albert Memm

~ Be nice to whites, they need you to rediscover their humanity. ~
Desmond Tutu

~ Racism is man's gravest threat to man - the maximum of hatred for a minimum of reason. ~
Abraham J. Heschel

the white man
the white governments
hate the hijab
for reasons
they wrongly toe
attacks on the hijab
is nothing
but racism
on the soul of Islam
as it grows
making the hijab
a mass weapon
of destruction
its no 1 foe
says the bigot
burn it
bury it
but dont let
it resurrect itself
after a death blow
but fortunately
the hijab lives
the only fact
a life after death
the maker
on the hijab
from one generation
to the next generation
it flowed the beauty of
garment of modesty
the silhouette of the hijab
the do not know

The Cassock the Nuns Habit Are Not Religious Symbols

135,603 items / 1,041,170 views

The Silhouette of Of Pain on the Soul of the Hijab

It is dangerous to be right when the government is wrong

a nuns habit
a priests cassock
are not religious symbols
the holy popes vestments
by god they were ordained
on rock of hope sartorially
remained its a different
matter altogether
to the church
they were chained
its only when the
peaceful muslim
woman wears the hijab
the entire white world
is pained racism
in reality on the soul
of humanity
french philosophy
by Sarkozy explained

Thursday, July 29, 2010

Once Upon a Time On A Rainy Day

135,602 items / 1,041,155 views

the poet
waits for his muse
hoping against hope
she will pass his way
her baby elephant walk
her peacock like sway
umbrella in hand
on a wet muddy day
dark side of the moon
clouds turning gray
a game of hide and seek
on your heart she plays
ponderously provocative
is his muse they say
but beauty lies
in the eyes of a poet
on his soul she displays
reflecting her crowning glory
in a world of decay
falling in love
is a golden moment
you clasp closefisted
from your hand to another
hand it does not fly away
a wet bunch of roses
blushing with excitement
in a roundabout way
till you spot her
holding the hands
of another man
may sound cliche
she was too good for you
she threw you away
like a bunch of red roses
your love washed away

The Only BE HUMAN Khan

Roland W. Luthi “The hands that help do more good than the lips that pray”

The same could be said of Salman Khan

Hunger Strikes

135,600 items / 1,040,426 views

ungliyan chat chat kar
handi khurach khurach kar
handi ganji ho jayegi
zindagi yunhi guzar jayegi

hateli par batore
hue ansu
dam todne se pehle
kuch bhuli bisri
yadein dikhaenge
ham jahan the
wahin reh jayenge

The Silhouette of the Hijab

135,599 items / 1,040,420 views

in the
of the hijab
a tradition
the core
life within
the life
of the hijab
to modesty
the folds
of a garb

The Silhouette of the Hijab

135,598 items / 1,040,403 views

under the shadow
of male dominated
mullah powered
society lies the
of the hijab
a silhouette
of Allah's
in the folds
of a garb

the jehad
for the uplift
of Muslim woman
has not yet begun
Bhai Sahab
education along
with her religious studies
computer savvy
making her self sufficient
self dependent
remains just a Khaab
instead of harping
on issues irrelevant
Muslim society
the woman in the Niqab
more fatwas
male domineering
make her life
impossible and Kharab

Searching For Love In My Inbox Amitié et Sincérité

135,597 items / 1,040,388 views

I received mail from a female French speaking person of Canadian origiin or African origin I am not sure irrespective of the borders created by man our origins are as minimalistically animalistic as those of her hairy crotch scratching forefathers from the jungles..

I will now post her message to share my new friend with all of you I wont share her e mail address of course..

Bonjour à vous,

Vous n’êtes pas sans savoir que le net est le meilleur outil de correspondance et surtout un moyen très efficace de se faire des ami (e) s. Si aujourd’hui mon message parvient dans votre boîte email c’est parce que j’aimerais de tout cœur lier une amitié avec vous.

Je sais que vous vous demandez comment j’ai eu votre adresse email. C’est en écrivant juste un pays sur le site que votre email m’est parvenu. L’amitié est la seule chose qui ne cesse de lier les hommes et de créer des couples.

Je suis canadienne âgée de 31 ans. Je suis juste une chargée de mission et plus précisément une secrétaire de direction dans une entreprise de la place. Je suis en mission à LONDRES en ANGLETERRE au sein de l’organisation dans laquelle je travaille.

Je sais aussi que allez répondre à mon message car j’ai envie de connaître la culture Africaines et la culture des autres pays. Je ne suis pas raciste, ne fume pas et surtout aime les blagues. J’aime le Cinéma, le tourisme et surtout j’aime manger.

Je m’excuse de mon intrusion dans votre vie privée mais essayez de comprendre.

Voici mon adresse émail personnel, veuillez bien me répondre dans cette boîte :

Je vous souhaite une bonne journée et que la Paix soit avec vous,


The Poor Mans Batawada Some Stray Thoughts

135,596 items / 1,040,375 views

Sitting on the streets mother and child are having their morning meal, batata wada pav.. and the little one is really hungry I took two hurried shots so as not to disturb the privacy of a poetic moment that I normally shoot without rhyme or reason.

This guy who sells batata wadas does good business actually all the guys selling foodstuff do good business on this stretch this is the road opposite Bhabha Municipal Hospital touching Water field Road on one end and Hill Road on the other end.

Now let me tell those of my foreign friends who have not visited Mumbai even those who see me in their dreams from time to time ..Waterfield Road has no water no field and Hill road has no hill unless you spot a few loud hijras carrying hillocks on their chest.

Next to this place where the lady sits is a huge gargantuan tree I call the Fat Lady of Hill Road people sit and eat under this tree.

A little ahead is a stall of a herbal medicine man who gives you pan to get rid of Jaundice it works effectively.

So it is through this road Marziya and I walk home cutting into Boran Road to Bazar Road.

And now I must take you back to a thought there are a few friends I eagerly wait to see in Mumbai and the list keeps on growing .

Because Glenn Losack is family and god uncle of Marziya we wait for him , he is getting a nice point and shoot camera for Marziya though with a disclaimer when she grows up when she gets the National Photography Awards at the age of 97 and when the Hindustan Times journo ask her who taught her photography she must mention his name first than mine.

Randy Der Joel is awaited too but wife is worried about his huge dog called Hanu.. we dont take kindly to dogs with dripping saliva.

Fred Anthony Posey Roland Luthi Michel Portier William Poznack and the Facebook bunch are meeting at Cafe Leopold .

June-Ruth A. Canonico is the very lucky one she meets me in her dreams luckily it is not Idd Day or the Indian photojournalists would love to to shoot us a white woman and a brownish burnt black man at Bandra Idd Station Idd Namaz for a new set of Idd hugging pictures.

Specially when I am told Ruth is a ex basketball player 8 Ft 9 inches taller than me in height and intelligence too.

Her message to me for posterity.. with no strings attached .

Strange as it may seem, Firoze, I dreamt last night that I met you! I cannot recall exactly what happened or where...I think India, where I have never been! I was so happy to meet you, but also very careful to be respectful, and not impose a hug on a Muslim man! Aren't dreams funny?

And I have a great respect for my Facebook friends the only place on cyberspace where I interact and respond to comments.

At Flickr I have shut myself off for good.
I have choked strangled squeezed to death my testicular comment box.

And in my next blog I will tell you a new story of a lady who has fallen in love with me she thought I was more lonely than her she approached me , she is from Quebec Canada she says .

Now Randy is a worried man..but the person who has fallen for me is more blacker than I am and hope she is not connected to the Nigerian Mafia who are gunning for my attitudinal multifaceted multi colored ass.

Lastly I am waiting for my Buzznet friends Benn Bell Xris Aljie Yorik Friar Drunk Debbie and Jamieshaef Obqupunx13, Silver Debbe Funksteena Paxgitmo Waza Duck etc

Oh where have they all gone.

Tom Andrews how the fuck did I forget him..

The Color of Life Pain Revisited

135,594 items / 1,040,338 views

The color of life is not red , it is green, almost the soothing green of green chutney.I shot this without rhyme or reason initially .

When you buy batata wada the staple diet of a man in the hurry on the street on the pav or loaf the chutney is soaked to make the batawada more appetizing,for those who are hardcore unaware of the aesthetics and the poetry of life , who dont like soothing green chutney, he offers you spicy ghati masala red chilly powder and salt..

And this guy sells his stuff close to Marziyas school, the poor the needy the ricksa drivers buy all this from him..he was surprised when I took this shot I was surprised too but sometimes we shoot pictures for kicks and one thing leads to another.

Prose is poetry only the juggler reads it as such, my poets life has taken far too many knocks , I am an earthen pot soaking with my own sweat mixed with a rivulet of tears the bleeding is within you wont see and I am only allowed to show you that when I cut myself for a cause it is called Ghame Hussain the only pain greater than my own pain...or the pain of the cosmos.
Call it Shiaspeak but thats the reality of my poets soul draped in blood.

So a picture
of chutney too
can make you
morbid and morose
within the soul
of my blog i froze
i shot it for kicks
i still dont know
we are where we are
like the weather cock
on a church steeple
stranded at one place
everywhere we go
north south east west
only a blog could show
from my computer
into your computer flow
whether it is shooting
or street dramatizing
that touches you
me sometimes
adding to our woes
that is why
god made you - you
made me firoze
we may be similar
in thought in rhythm
in our pathos our angst
yet we are different
like cheese and chalk
like poetry and prose
this is life
unending pain
knocking us
black and blue
till our head
divinity's toes
embalming us our
pain our sorrow
as never before
the enterprise
i am in unprofitable
money losing
debt encouraging
mortgaged to the bank
i cant foreclose
this blogging
this flogging
the only
thing i am
good at
says my
nagging wife
day in day out
where the fuck
is the dough

The No1 Human Khan of Bollywood

You Dont Shoot A Poem With A Camera Or Do You

135,586 items / 1,039,509 views

Invariably when you buy a camera you shoot pictures , you capture memories moments you stamp on the soul of your photo album.

And most of the photographers truly believe a high end camera shoots high end pictures.

I never was a photographer or remotely connected with poetry..I rarely wrote the blog changed all that kilos of words recycled as pain of the poetry of my life.

When I shot this lady sitting waiting for a bus to take her home , it looked a very simple cut out of a picture there was no poem or anesthetics at play..

I shot her with my camera obviously but a part of my unconscious mind had poetized her much in advance and I tweaked her soul robbing her dry of color..

And now I shall again add the color of words , I have tiill now not decided what I will write I never do it happens in my minds auto mode..

its getting dark
the lights are
getting dimmer
but truth
like a spectral light
lights her way
her past
keeps catching up
with her day by day
the man she loved
passed away
her strength
her faith
he held
as he held
her hand
now a memory
washed away
she reminisces
the laughter
the joy
of her wedding day
his pan stained
his sehra
the twinkle
in his eyes
time of day
from the drooping
of curiosity
she imagined
it today
the lucknow
wintry nights
the charpoy
his playfulness
with her weight
gave away
the raucous laughter
the doors
tears like
uneaten food
on the tray

her pain
in a picture
a poet captured
it in a bouquet
without poetry
what is photography
might sound cliche
reading a picture
as a poem
makes a photographer
a poet
in a magic way

Have Wheels Will Travel

135,567 items / 1,038,985 views

he says
but looks
the other way
his mother
seeing his pain
turns her eyes away
tears that fall from the
slits of her hijab
on her soul
they stay
the silhouette
of the hijab
has a price to pay
hiding her face
hiding her shame
she begs or a living
what more can I say
i am a poet an earthen pot
of mud caught
in word play
if marziya
had not
shown me
her pain
i would
have not
noticed her
our paths
have crossed
this way

a poem a picture
in a deathly embrace
in every way
trial and tribulations
on the soul of humanity
searching for a prayer

The Silhouette of the Hijab

135,567 items / 1,038,985 views

has its home in the
mothers eyes
searching for hope
her soul cries
a crippled son
on a wheel chair
as she begs
to stay alive
to society
she pays
a price
her son
she smiles
for a short
moment stolen
from eternity
her pain dies

she is the mother of the crippled boy on the wheel chair

to nitin sharma from my birth place lucknow

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

The Poor Mans Cuisine

135,554 items / 1,038,882 views

green hot chillies
is the poor mans meal
cooked on a kerosene
stove no big deal
he cant afford
the rich mans meal
the long winding
line for kerosene
burning sorrow
burning feet
his life
like a slithering
the pain of living
as prices sky rocket
now you know
how he feels
his pain reveal
governments come
make a quick buck
go his pain
wont heal
a system
that sucks
his soul
it steals
in a grinding
pain round
round he goes
round a karmic
wheel made
of plastic
not of steel
the only time
he is respected
they come with
folded hands
for his vote
his fucked fate
is sealed
another 5 years
another spiked heel
on his trampled
sorrow another
fucked deal

Not Through Shooting Pictures But Shooting With The Soul a Street Photographer is Born

135,562 items / 1,038,978 views

Marziya Shakir street photographer who shoots eternity without a camera .

Age 2 and a Half Year Old

The Silhouette Of A Hijab

135,555 items / 1,038,936 views

on the soul of humanity
you cannot escape
a garment of modesty
you cannot ape
it hides all
but reveals
the spiritual
of a muslim woman
in a hooded cape
the life of the woman
it shapes
made of cotton
made of crepe
has you confused
has you agape
the silhouette
of the hijab
of a culture
within a drape

The Wall Of My Woes

135,552 items / 1,038,752 views

for the first time
in my poets life
I am bogged
from all sides
blow after blow
my pain
I hide
living life
is suicide
every morning
every night
waking up
with a fuzzy feeling
of fruitlessness
my time I bide
within the kernel
of my pain
with my
inner self
I collide
sometimes up
down the drain
I slide
I am all locked
up from within
a click
of a mouse
some solace
a saint
a devil
in my hell
a toss of a coin
the outcome
I cant
I lose
both ways
my fucked fate
pushed aside
living but also
dead side by side
says the page
of my pathos
be found
a talkative poem
now tongue tied

The Jain Muni

135,551 items / 1,038,367 views

he walks
mouth covered
he rarely talks
the soul
of spirituality
heat humidity
pain hardship
the soul of rocks
the jain muni
apostle of peace
the soul
of my camera

I am human beneath my skin so I seek humanity out and I have always been spiritually fascinated by the Jain Muni and the Sadhvi , only they will never know I shoot them and add to their piety and sanctity.

And most of these Munis and Sadhvis are visitors who come to meet the Acharyaji at Jain Mandir temple at Bandra .

This is my tribute to their faith and their compassion to all living beings.

The Silhouette of the Hijab

135,551 items / 1,038,367 views

She is smiling at me and if I don't elaborate here the essence of this smile would be misinterpreted and hit me as a father and as a grand father .

I was bringing Marziya from school and she walks 15 minute distance from school to home , because like me she loves the streets and as she knows most of the people via the Bazar path we take.

I will try to put her in a rick but she will insist on walking with her bag on her shoulder and her smile in place..

When we approached Kalidas provision store she gave me a tug , I saw this lady with her crippled son on a wheel chair begging the streets.

Marziya immediately took some money and gave it to the beggar boy.

So the mothers smile her love for Marziya shows through the slits of her hijab that serves as eyes..

Motherhood is such a powerful source of love a reservoir of kindness within the silhouette of the Hijab.

This is street photography capturing light and shade , within the soul of Motherhood.

This is the power of the Hijab
a garment of modesty , she wears
her pain her joys her kindness
on receiving alms
from a two year old child
with a smile she shares
holistic healing power of
motherhood she bares
she does not complain
curse her bad fate
a broken down wheel
time will repair
caught in a vicious
poverty's snare
a mother a cripple son
both a unique pair

And this year for the first time I did not go to shoot the Wiladate E Imame Zamana celebrations at the Gateway Pier , my wife and family went I stayed behind, I gave myself a break I have already re posted much of it from old posts into my current photo stream at Flickr and Facebook.

Farewell Ravi Baswani

135,551 items / 1,038,366 views

photo courtesy in dot com through Google images

Ravi Baswani was as blunt as a razor sharp wit , he had no time to spare with frivolities , he called a spade a spade , a Bollyood veteran he did not lick ass as simple as that.

He was highly respected and I in my humble capacity knew him once upon a time as I worked for Mr Nitin Manmohan's fashion store Prachins and Ravi was very close to Nitinji those days when Neha Arts Nitinjis banner was going great guns.

Ravi had bought Nitinji very close to theater actors and this was the way he was trying to introduce talent towards films and he was a boon to most of the strugglers searching for a stepping stone to films and Bollywood.

As Ravis house was close to Prachins at Seven Bungalows he spent time with us keeping us in laughter with anecdotes and his rare sense of joviality.

I spent a lot of time with him those days but after that ever since I left Nitinji and branched on my own , Ravi and I never met.

I tried to get in touch with him but it was in vain.

He died of a massive heart attack on 27July 2010 at Haldwani Uttranchal ,He was 64.
The Industry has lost a stalwart I pay my condolence to his family his film fraternity..

May his soul RIP.


Ravi Baswani (September 29, 1946 - July 27, 2010) was a well known Indian actor. He was well known for his comic skills and underplaying a character in the true sense. He started his career in 1981 with Chashme Buddoor and did many successful films as a comedian and/or as a character artist. He also appeared very many times on Indian televsion. One of his major hits was the cult comedy Jaane Bhi Do Yaaro for which he won Filmfare Best Comedian Award in 1984. Baswani died following a massive heart attack on July 27, 2010.[1]


Monsoon (2006) .... Baba

Anthony Kaun Hai? (2006) .... Dr. Lashwani

Yun Hota Toh Kya Hota: What If...? (2006) (as Ravi Vaswani) .... Papaji

The Film (2005) .... Film-maker Kanti Gulati

Bunty Aur Babli (2005) .... B.B.'s first victim

Lucky: No Time for Love (2005) .... Mr. Negi

It Could Be You (2005) .... Dhillon Sr

Pyaar Tune Kya Kiya... (2001) .... Vispy - Jai's boss

Chal Mere Bhai (2000) (as Ravi Vaswani) .... Waitor

Jab Pyaar Kisise Hota Hai (1998) .... Orphanage manager

Chhota Chetan (1998) .... Raja

Ghar Bazar (1998) (uncredited) .... Movie actor

Return of Jewel Thief (1996) .... Trikal Trivedi

Laadla (1994) (as Ravi Vaswani)

Kabhi Haan Kabhi Naa (1993) .... Albert Sullivan

Raunaq (1993) .... Ravi

Jaan Tere Naam (1992) .... Hotel employee

Zevar (1987) .... Sundeep

Peechha Karro (1986) .... Hari Harihara

Ghar Sansar (1986) .... Banwari

Love 86 (1986) .... Havaldar Pandu

Main Balwan (1986)

Ab Ayega Mazaa (1984) .... Suresh'Sidey'

Jaane Bhi Do Yaaro (1983) .... Sudhir Mishra

Dhat Tere... Ki (1983) .... Madhukar Sharma (Maddy)

Chashme Buddoor (1981) (as Ravi Vaswani) .... Jai Lakhanpal

Marziya Shakir Head Bowed In Prayer

135,540 items / 1,038,065 views

I shot this a few days back, but due to a faulty card reader the card got corrupted I thought I had lost all the pictures but I managed to salvage them , the loss would have hit me simply because Marziya has begun her namaz , imitating the elders and the core essence of our faith .,..head bowed in prayers.

What can I tell you about Marziya that you already dont know , she kisses peoples hand and shows her respect to them.

At the moment I can hear her crying in her parents room..and she has these crazy bouts .

My poem for her

following the footsteps
of her mother her father
her grand mother
marziya shakir
head bowed in prayers
the core essence
of our spiritual survival
as important as air
a breath of life
in every layer
our humility
with the maker
we share
we need him
he is there
like a beacon
of hope
in our despair
our allegiance
to him

Wiladat E Imame Zamana Gateway of India

Today I am posting my old pictures of the Shia Shabbarat shot in 2007 at Gateway of India at Facebook.

This feast is very much akin to All Souls Day , a night spent remembering dead relatives friends family and ancestors ..
This gives way to 15 Shaban the day Shias celebrate Wiladat e Imame Zamana the birthday of Twelfth Imam or the Mahdi in occultation and wait for hisZahoor or Re Appearance .

Actress Meena Kumaris Grave Frontal View

135,539 items / 1,037,639 views

I am told by the caretaker Bahadur who died recently that one of her fans built this Mausoleum and would come and place flowers and pray.. but than I dont know the truth, and when you die you add wings to the stories that attach to you and make you more legendary than you are...and the Shia grave yard is a hard bed of incomplete stories of Lifes Drama a sudden curtain call.. a bow in vain..

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Meena Kumari or Mahjabeen Bano (1 August 1932 - 31 March 1972), was an Indian movie actress and poetess. She is regarded as one of the most prominent actresses to have appeared on the screens of Hindi Cinema. During a career spanning 30 years from her childhood to her death, she starred in more than ninety films, many of which have achieved classic and cult status today.

Kumari gained a reputation for playing grief-stricken and tragic roles, and her performances have been praised and reminisced throughout the years. Like one of her best-known roles, Chhoti Bahu, in Sahib Bibi Aur Ghulam (1962), Kumari became addicted to alcohol. Her life and prosperous career were marred by heavy drinking, troubled relationships, an ensuing deteriorating health, and her death from liver cirrhosis in 1972.

Kumari is often cited by media and literary sources as "The Tragedy Queen", both for her frequent portrayal of sorrowful and dramatic roles in her films and her real-life story.[1][2]

Mahjabeen Bano was the third daughter of Ali Baksh and Iqbal Begum; Khursheed and Madhu were her two elder sisters. At the time of her birth, her parents were unable to pay the fees of Dr. Gadre, who had delivered her, so her father left her at a Muslim orphanage, however, he picked her up after a few hours.

Her father, a Shia Muslim, was a veteran of Parsi theater, played harmonium, taught music, and wrote Urdu poetry. He played small roles in films like Id Ka Chand and composed music for films like Shahi Lutere.

Her mother, Prabhwati Devi, was the second wife of Ali Baksh. Before meeting and then marrying Ali Baksh, she was a stage actress and dancer, under the stage name, Kamini. After marriage, she converted from Hinduism to Islam, and changed her name to Iqbal Begum.

(It is said that Prabhwati Devi's mother, Hem Sundari, had been married into the Tagore family, but she was disowned by that family after being widowed.)
[edit] Career
[edit] Early work

When Mahjabeen was born, Ali Bakhsh aspired to get roles as an actor in Rooptara Studios. At the urging of his wife, he got Mahjabeen too into movies despite her protestations of wanting to go to school. Young Mahjabeen is said to have said, "I do not want to work in movies; I want to go to school, and learn like other children."

As Mahjabeen embarked on her acting career at the age of 7, she was renamed Baby Meena. Farzand-e-Watan or Leatherface (1939) was her first movie, which was directed for Prakash Studios by Vijay Bhatt. She became practically the sole breadwinner of her family during the 1940s. Her early adult acting, under the name Meena Kumari, was mainly in mythological movies like Veer Ghatotkach (1949), Shri Ganesh Mahima (1950), and fantasy movies like Alladin and The Wonderful Lamp (1952).
[edit] Breakthrough
Meena Kumari, (here with Rehman), performed a landmark role, as Choti Bahu, in Abrar Alvi's, Sahib Bibi Aur Ghulam, 1962

Meena Kumari gained fame with her role as a heroine in Vijay Bhatt's Baiju Bawra (1952). This heroine always negated herself for the material and spiritual advancement of the man she loved and was even willing to annihilate herself to provide him the experience of pain so that his music would be enriched. She became the first actress to win the Filmfare Best Actress Award in 1953 for this performance.

Meena Kumari highly successfully played the roles of a suffering woman in Parineeta (1953), Daera (1953), Ek Hi Raasta (1956), Sharda (1957), and Dil Apna Aur Preet Parayi (1960). Though she cultivated the image of a tragedienne, she also performed commendably in a few light-hearted movies like Azaad (1955), Miss Mary (1957), Shararat (1959), and Kohinoor (1960).

One of her best-known roles was in Sahib Bibi Aur Ghulam (1962), which was produced by Guru Dutt. Kumari played Chhoti Bahu, an alcoholic wife. The film was a major critical and commercial success, which was attributed by critics to Kumari's performance, which is regarded as one of the best performances of Hindi Cinema.[3] The role was famous for its uncanny similarity to Meena Kumari's own life. At that time, she herself was on a road to gradual ruin in her own personal life. Like her character, she began to drink heavily, though she carried on. In 1962, she made history by getting all the three nominations for Filmfare Best Actress Award, for her roles in Aarti, Main Chup Rahungi, and Sahib Bibi Aur Ghulam. She won the award for Sahib Bibi Aur Ghulam. wrote about her performance,

While each of the performances are spot on, if there is one person who is the heart and soul of the film, it is Meena Kumari. Her portrayal of Chhoti Bahu is perhaps the greatest performance ever seen on the Indian Screen. The sequence where Chhoti Bahu dresses for her husband singing Piya Aiso Jiya Main is a poignant exploration of a woman's expectations and sexual desire. And later on when she has become a desperate alcoholic, you cannot help but cry with her in the sequence where she pleads with her husband to stay with her and then angrily turns on him to tell him how she has prostituted her basic values and morals to please him. However the common factors between the actress's life and Chhoti Bahu are too dramatic to be merely coincidental - The estranged marital relationship, the taking of alcohol, turning towards younger male company, the craving to be understood and loved - all elements evident in Meena Kumari's own life.[4]

[edit] Later work

For four more years, Kumari performed successfully in Dil Ek Mandir (1963), Kaajal (1965), and Phool Aur Patthar (1966), all of which earned her Filmfare nominations, with Kaajal garnering her a fourth and last win of the Best Actress award. However, after divorcing her husband in 1964, her addiction to alcohol became stronger, and she often dulled her senses with liquor. She also relied more and more on intimate relationships with younger men like Dharmendra. Her subsequent releases, including Chandan Ka Palna and Majhli Didi did not do well.[1]

Kumari's heavy drinking had badly damaged her liver, and in 1968 she fell seriously ill.[1][5] She was taken to London and Switzerland for treatment. Back home, she started settling her debts and made peace with her estranged sister, Madhu, whom she had not spoken to for two years.[5] Because of her heavy drinking, she increasingly lost her good looks, and when she returned, she began playing character roles in movies like Jawab (1970) and Dushmun (1972).[1]

She developed an attachment to writer-lyricist Gulzar and acted in his directorial debut Mere Apne (1971). Kumari presented an acclaimed portrayal of an elderly woman who got caught between two street gangs of frustrated, unemployed youth and got killed, her death making the youth realise the futility of violence.

Pakeezah, starring Kumari and directed by her ex-husband Kamal Amrohi, took 14 years to reach the silver screen. First planned by Amrohi in 1958, the film went on the studio floors in 1964, but the shooting came to a standstill after their separation in March 1964, when it was more than halfway complete.[5] In 1969, Sunil Dutt and Nargis previewed some reels of the shelved film and convinced the estranged Amrohi and Kumari to complete it.[1] Hindustan Times described the meeting which Dutt had organised between the two:
“ Not much was said, but streams of tears were shed... Amrohi greeted her with a token payment of a gold guinea and the promise that he’d make her look as beautiful as the day she had started the film.[5] ”

Gravelly ill, Kumari was determined to complete the film and, well aware of the limited time left for her to live, went out of her way to complete it at the earliest. Despite her rapidly deteriorating health, she gave the finishing touches to her performance. Initially, after its release in February 1972, Pakeezah opened to a lukewarm response from the public; however, after Meena Kumari's death less than two months later, people flocked to see it, making it a major box-office success. The film has since gained a cult and classic status, and Kumari's performance as a golden-hearted Lucknow prostitute drew major praise. She posthumously received her twelfth and last Filmfare nomination.

Throughout her life, Kumari had a love-hate relationship with movies, and besides being a top-notch actress, she was a talented poetess, and recorded a disc of her Urdu poems, I write, I recite with music by Khayyam.
[edit] Death

Three weeks after the release of Pakeezah, Meena Kumari became seriously ill, and died on 31 March 1972 of cirrhosis of the liver. At her death, she was in more or less the same financial circumstance as her parents at the time of her birth: It is said that when she died in a nursing home, there was no money to pay her hospital bills.
[edit] Relationship with Kamal Amrohi

In 1952, on the sets of one of her films, Meena Kumari fell in love with and married film director, Kamal Amrohi, who was fifteen years elder than her and was already married. She wrote about Amrohi:

Dil saa jab saathi paya
Bechaini bhi woh saath le aaya

When I found someone like my heart
He also brought sorrow with him

Soon after marriage, Kamal Amrohi and Meena Kumari produced a film called Daera (1953), which was based on their love story. They also planned another film, Pakeezah. However, it took sixteen years (1956 to 1972) before Pakeezah reached the silver screen. (The scenes in Pakeezah's popular song, Inhi logon ne, were originally filmed in black and white, and were later reshot in color.)

It is said that Amrohi did not want children with Meena Kumari because she was not a Syed. They raised Kamal Amrohi's son, Tajdaar, who was greatly attached to his chhoti ammi (younger mother).

Due to their strong personalities, however, Meena Kumari and Kamal Amrohi started to develop conflicts, both professionally and in their married life. Their conflicts led to separation in 1960, and ultimately divorce in 1964. Highly affected Meena Kumari, who, once a happy woman, became depressed and found solace in heavy drinking.They remarried, but Meena Kumari had become an alcoholic by then.

She expressed her sorrows prominently in her poetry. About Kamal Amrohi she wrote:

Tum kya karoge sunkar mujhse meri kahani
Belutf zindagi ke kisse hain pheeke pheeke

Why do you want to listen to my story:
Colourless tales of a joyless life

At the time of the divorce, she wrote:

Talaak to de rahe ho Nazar-e-kahar ke saath
Jawani bhi mere lauta do Mehar ke saath

You are divorcing me with rage in your eyes
Return to me, also, my youth along with the bridal-price!

[edit] Filmography

1) Gomti Ke Kinare (1972) .... Ganga
2) Pakeezah (1972) .... Nargis/Sahibjaan
3) Dushmun (1971) .... Malti R. Din
4) Mere Apne (1971) .... Anandi Devi/Auaji (Aunt)
5) Jawab (1970) .... Vidya
6) Saat Phere (1970)
7) Abhilasha (1968) .... Mrs. Meena Singh
8) Baharon Ki Manzil (1968) .... Nanda S. Roy/Radha Shukla
9) Bahu Begum (1967) .... Zeenat Jahan Begum
10) Chandan Ka Palna (1967) .... Shobha Rai
11) Majhli Didi (1967) .... Hemangini 'Hema'
12) Noorjehan (1967)
13) Phool Aur Patthar (1966) .... Shanti Devi
14) Pinjre Ke Panchhi (1966) .... Heena Sharma
15) Bheegi Raat (1965)
16) Jadui Angoothi (1965)
17) Kaajal (1965) .... Madhavi
18) Purnima (1965) .... Purnima V. Lal
19) Maain Bhi Ladki Hun (1964) .... Rajni
20) Benazir (1964) .... Benazir
21) Chitralekha (1964) .... Chitralekha
22) Gazal (1964) .... Naaz Ara Begum
23) Sanjh Aur Savera (1964) .... Gauri
24) Akeli Mat Jaiyo (1963) Seema
25) Dil Ek Mandir (1963) .... Sita
26) Kinare Kinare (1963)
27) Aarti (1962) .... Aarti Gupta
28) Main Chup Rahungi (1962) .... Gayetri
29) Sahib Bibi Aur Ghulam (1962) .... Chhoti Bahu
30) Bhabhi Ki Chudiyan (1961) .... Geeta, Shyam's wife
31) Pyaar Ka Saagar (1961) .... Radha/Rani B. Gupta
32) Zindagi Aur Khwab (1961) .... Shanti
33) Bahaana (1960)
34) Dil Apna Aur Preet Parai (1960) .... Karuna
35) Kohinoor (1960)
36) Ardhangini (1959) .... Chhaya
37) Chand (1959)
38) Char Dil Char Raahein (1959) .... Chavli
39) Chirag Kahan Roshni Kahan (1959) .... Ratna
40) Jagir (1959)
41) Madhu (1959)
42) Satta Bazaar (1959) .... Jamuna
43) Shararat (1959)
44) Farishta (1958)
45) Sahara (1958) .... Leela
46) Savera (1958)
47) Yahudi (1958) .... Hannah
48) Miss Mary (1957) .... Miss Mary/Laxmi
49) Sharada (1957) .... Sharada Ram Sharan
50) Bandhan (1956)
51) Ek-Hi-Rasta (1956) .... Malti
52) Halaku (1956) .... Niloufer Nadir
53) Mem Sahib (1956) .... Meena
54) Naya Andaz (1956)
55) Shatranj (1956)
56) Adil-E-Jahangir (1955)
57) Azaad (1955) .... Shobha
58) Bandish (1955) .... Usha Sen
59) Rukhsana (1955)
60) Baadbaan (1954)
61) Chandni Chowk (1954) .... Zarina
62) Ilzam (1954)
63) Daera (1953) .... Sheetal
64) Dana Paani (1953)
65) Do Bigha Zamin (1953) .... Thakurain
66) Foot Path (1953) .... Mala
67) Naulakha Haar (1953) .... Bijma
68) Parineeta (1953) .... Lalita
69) Aladdin Aur Jadui Chirag (1952)
70) Baiju Bawra (1952) .... Gauri
71) Tamasha (1952) .... Kiran
72) Hanumaan Pataal Vijay (1951)
73) Lakshmi Narayan (1951)
74) Madhosh (1951) .... Soni
75) Sanam (1951)
76) Anmol Ratan (1950)
77) Hamara Ghar (1950)
78) Magroor (1950)
79) Shri Ganesh Mahima (1950)
80) Veer Ghatotkach (1949) .... Surekha
81) Bichchade Balam (1948)
82) Piya Ghar Aaja (1947)
83) Bachchon Ka Khel (1946)
84) Duniya Ek Sarai (1946)
85) Lal Haveli (1944)
86) Pratiggya (1943)
87) Garib (1942)
88) Bahen (1941) (as Baby Meena) .... Bina
89) Kasauti (1941)
90) Nai Roshni (1941)
91) Ek Hi Bhool (1940)
92) Pooja (1940)
93) Leatherface (1939)
[edit] Filmfare Awards

Awards won

* 1954 Filmfare Best Actress Award - Baiju Bawra

* 1955 Filmfare Best Actress Award - Parineeta

* 1963 Filmfare Best Actress Award - Sahib Bibi Aur Ghulam

* 1966 Filmfare Best Actress Award - Kaajal

Awards nominated

* 1956 Filmfare Best Actress Award - Azaad

* 1959 Filmfare Best Actress Award - Sahara

* 1960 Filmfare Best Actress Award - Chirag Kahan Roshni Kahan

* 1963 Filmfare Best Actress Award - Aarti

* 1963 Filmfare Best Actress Award - Main Chup Rahungi

* 1964 Filmfare Best Actress Award - Dil Ek Mandir

* 1967 Filmfare Best Actress Award - Phool Aur Patthar

* 1973 Filmfare Best Actress Award - Pakeezah (posthumous nomination)[6]

[edit] Biography

One of the first biographies of Meena Kumari was written just after her death by Vinod Mehta in the year 1972. It was simply titled Meena Kumari.

The Shakirs of Colaba

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My parents graves at Rehmatabad Shia Cemetery..

Side by side interlocked
mohomed shakir
shamim shakir
as one forever
seamlessly fused
in eternity
time could not sever
made in Lucknow
lived at Colaba Mumbai
The Shakirs faith fidelity
intrepid endeavor
now or never

The Grave Of Nawab Kashmiri Actor

his is the grave of Nawab Kashmiri , and it was at his house at Colaba Wodehouse Road that my father Mohomed Shakir bought us live from the shanty our first house close to a Hindu crematorium , and this was an opulent house though it served as the Late Nawabs family servants quarters..and the building was called Khatau Bhuvan opp Military Quarters , and is today called Jony Castle..

The Nawb Kashmiris children :

Akthar (Baji) Kashmiri daughter lives with her kids in the States her husband predeceased her in Pakistan.

Anwar Kashmiri son deceased

Munnawar Kashmiri .. stays at Juhu with his wife and a daughter in the States.

And a nephew Ajay Kashmiri in Mumbai..

I owe a lot to Akhthar Baji for my education and my upbringing.

Candle Lit Graves Rehmatabad Shabbarat

I did use my Tripod here , but the ground was soggy due to the rains..and the family relatives of Benazir Bhutto are buried here I am told, and a lot of Baluchi graves with designed tiles from Iran, and the great Indian Tragedienne filmstar Meena Kumari is buried her, her husband Kamal Amrohi, Jalal Agha comedian Aghas son, Mahesh Bhatts mother, and so many unsung souls.

Actress Meena Kumaris Grave on Shabbarat

I have always said fatiyah on her grave , and I think the person that really understood her well was Mehmood Saab's son Lucky Ali.. and she did keep her staff happy..and she was a powerhouse of a performer Sahib Bibi Aur Ghulam and Pakeezah are my favorite and Mere Apne..

27 July 2010

the last
power packed
of her life
she lives
a tragedy queen
never dies
tears she shed
made others shed
sweet and nice
the tears
have not yet dried
a candle
burning in the wind
a pain from this shore
to the other shore as guide

kabhi toh milegi
baharon ki manzil rahen
lilting lyrics
pain could not hide
in the backdrop
on a crest they ride