Wednesday, March 17, 2010

I Hate Sunsets

kuch tasvir e buka
kuch hasinon ke khatut
bad marne ke
mere ghar se yeh
saman nikla

My mother normally quoted these words seeing me writing and collecting letters and parphernalis from my various girlfriends in the good old days before my bachelorhood hood came to a halt after marriage.

As I worked in a five star hotel environment girl friends did change , and my mom now dead often wondered if I would marry or anyone would marry me than , my salary was Rs 750.. my only asset was my collection of classics ..poetry books etc.. my favorites were photographer like authors who pphotographed their novels on the human soul Balzac Dickens and Dostoevsky and an author called George Gissing who wrote New Grub Street.

I also liked Wilde and Somerset Maugham.

I read a lort of books but I was in love with French and Russian literature .. dont ask me why..I dont read books anymore

And I am happy I have come to terms with myself and the picture I am posting is part of my boredom series I shot it reluctantly against the desire of my poetic soul yes you guessed right I hate sunsets ..a picture of a sunset makes me puke violently

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In Search of the Bullock Cart Race

the bullocks
have gone
disappeared
without trace
a blogger
a futile bullock
cart chase
from alibaug
to murud janjira
nandgaon
could not find
bullocks
or bullock carts
nor race
hidden from
the face
of the earth
someplace
no marathi
parampara
no tradition
all
replaced
a court order
in place
justice triumphs
in this case

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Imprints on the Sands of Time

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The Race of Time

Shot by a fisherman on Murud Beach

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The Death Of The Bullock Cart Race

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Imprints on the Sands of Time

If you see this picture carefully and try to interpret it as a poet and in my lexicon a poet crystallizes human thought in a few words ..a poet is a person who summarizes the serenity of the human soul..you will understand the barrenness the wastelands of human misery on the sands of time ..
And in a way this picture and the few that follow speak the colloquial language of pain..so why did I shoot this picture of a washed away garment , now resting on a graveyard of a distant beach, a garment that was once a layer of a man or woman a garment that caressed the anatomy of the person who has disappeared into timeless oblivion....

Honestly I was bored I was sad I was unable to shoot what I had come to shoot , but I was carrying back something from my molehill of despair I shot 107 pictures in this series Murud Janjira trip 2010 housed at Flickr.

There are a lot of things I dont shoot I shot .
I hate sunsets I shot it on the Mandwa jetty , I shoot at random , I shoot randomness I shot boredom as an idyllic escapade and poetized it on your soul too.

My friend journo Kiran Batham who is a Murud local was at Mahad and asked me to hang around till he returned but I did not wait for him..2 hours was a long wait and it would have killed me , suffocated me completely.

I needed good company and there was none around..I wanted to release my tantric kundalini unleash it on another person , but there was no one around just me the sea and sounds of silence waves making lethargic love to the sand on the beach, moistening glistening foaming in between..


I am not a crowded person I am a loner I am a recluse I write with a camera stories that need no words even my pictures are not dependent of words..I keep them blank and perhaps when I see them in a year or two will embed some frugal text..

What is important is holding a woman's hand on the beach and walking in silence this is sheer poetry for me , two palms making love , and only the soul serenading the surroundings knows the symbolism of this kind of romance..

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A Poets Paradise

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My Shadow Remains Unchanged

after almost
one year
on the sands of time
i shot my shadow
through my souls
window pane
my shadow
remains
unchanged
unchained
although
i have deleted
her from
my fucked
consciousness
on the soul of misery
we stand estranged
my chaotic karma with her
devious dharma
i have certainlty not
exchanged

i dedicate this to another dear friend
kaushik dutta ... yes dude

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Shitting on The Rocks

shadows within my head
no poetic pauses or mental blocks
i was face to face with my destiny
i was face to face with taunting nature
shitting on the rocks
wave after wave lashed my soul
mocking my mortality
my vulnerability
my mind landlocked
i silently
surrounded
by serendipity
wetness
moistness
serenity
took knock after knock
what i took for granted
from my soul unlocked
a blob in the sea of despair
with the creator of my
imagination
i talked
relieving
a call of
my physicality
of pain
a milestone
i clocked
from one state
of nothingness
into another
state of mindlessness
i spacewalked


this poem was inspired by a comment of Marcel Duvoix.. my facebook friend and a better cosmic poet than me ..

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The Cosmic Poetry of Pain

life is not a bed of roses
to the soul of her silence she said
spreading her legs her sorrow
seeping as tears on his bed
the bedsheets languorous
bleeding red she was entwined
bodily in another mans head
the cosmic chemistry
of a love making
of convenience
of a listless love
that was stone dead
both in pain but
to transient time wed
she was behind
sometimes on top
sometimes below
neither here nor there
not moving ahead
in her mouth
his longings
his belongings
she held
a poetic pause
he misread
he followed
her soul
into a cavernous
darkness
of her eternity
his masthead
she led
tumescent
blood red
she wore a veil
of metaphoric
mysticism
the power
within him
could not shred

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Murud Janjira Through The Eyes of a Cosmic Poet

My wife and I came here zillion years back when our marriage was on the rocks literally I was only a whisker away from getting married to an American woman.


Wife and I had come to reconcile our fate as such we are still happily married but we have not found any more hazardous excuse to come to Murud Janjira again , I was alone on this desolate beach, on Gudi Padwa day , the bullock cart race that I had come to shoot is once more banned from this coastal belt completely its matter in court and nobody messes with the ruling of the court.


For the first time I did not know what to do, I shot boredom , as pictures , my shadows stuff lying on the beach, boredom too can be a subject for photography..

I have some great memories of Murud Janjira besides the visit here with my wife..

On of my trips here I had come with another good photographer and teacher Anil Bhartiya while we were walking on the beach I got the runs I needed to rush to the toilet but it was too far away so I gave my camera to Anil Bhartiya and went straight into the sea , pulled down my pants and was totally washed by foam and a very spiritual bliss..it was the most beautiful moment of my life watching the dancing waves as they mocked my mortality and my vulnerability ..I was merely a blob in the ocean..as a poet of pain I saw visions I saw my half baked dreams come alive..I had never done this before on a beach.
Though I have done it on my treks to Ladakh and Doodh Sagar.

So however nauseating disgusting you might find shitting asses on the beach , try it out once ,.Randy my dearest friend in Montreal is bursting at the seams..and Marcel Duvoix has put a hanky on his nose..

I was inspired by a erotic poem here at Murud Janjira this was my genre too I had put it in the back drawer of my head not to hurt the pompously poetic and the sacrilegious-like spiritual..

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Falling In Love With a Crow

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this was a seed of a poem
on the insanity of a finger
fucked crow
i could not write it last night
i was tired dream fucked
you should know
dressed in black
in funereal clothes
the agony and the angst
of a wingless crow
he dared to fall in love
with an angel
most beautiful
with an alluring halo
conceit arrogance
made up her personality
her ego but yet
our cosmic
poet of a crow
friend of el gekko
love blindly
he did follow
she was in love
with another man
more wealthy
more heavenly
endowed
no time for
a common crow
this was a severe
deathblow
to the human
humility
of a black crow
racially profiled
by god
in the shadow
of the negro
from time
immemorial
a scavenger also
although
he has deleted her
from his fucked
consciousness
from his fucked mind
she refuses to go
into his darkest
thoughts suicidal
she loves to burrow
his fucked fate hanging
between
arsehole and eternity
fucked by cupids arrow

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Yes God Gives Me Pictures

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I am a Fan of The Street Photographers of Gateway of India

I admire these guys that left their various profession to become photographers , some of them worked at a barbers salon , another guy was a tea man and another guy a bhajiwala but today they earn with dignity.

This guy had befriended me at my last trip and I took a picture with him and several of his colleagues.

This is my tribute to the street photographers of Gateway of India.

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Taken For a Ride Murud Janjira 2010

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This morning dressed in saffron, barefeet I left home to go to Murud Janjira to shoot the bullock cart race 2010 , a race that I have shot with a passion over the years, I shot it last year too.
So I took a train reached Gateway and was surprised there was not a single photographer going to Murud.

I took a PNP boat paid Rs 110 for the upper deck, reached Alibagh , had some snacks at Sumangal , my first halt at Alibagh , the road was burning hot my barefeet took the brunt , I caught a bus from Alibagh to Murud Janjira paying Rs 55 ..

On the way near Nangaon , a guy told me the race was canceled due to a court order but I continued my journey.

I arrived at Vinayaka restaurant on the Murud beach met the owner Sunil Dhamal..who reconfirmed the race was canceled.


I had not carried my mobile phone but I spoke to my journalist friend Kiran Batham of Sahara Samay, he was at Mahad..he is a Murud local.. he did not know the race was canceled either.

I shot a few pictures on the desolate beach , and was told by the kolis that the race was shifted to Nandgaon , I took another bus reached the Ganesh Temple at Nandgaon , but the race had been canceled at this venue too by the cops..

I met a local farmer of Nandgaoon , Vishnu Nangaonkar and he told me the race was at another village close to Alibagh , but I had no strength to continue, I got a bus after an hour , reached Alibagh , rushed to Maldar boat office and took the catamaran for Gateway all this at 6 pm..

On board I met a French guy an artist Fredrick , we got off at the pier , we walked till Lions Gate I offered him tea and he stays at a hotel at Metro Cinema and was walking back to his hotel, so I walked too till Churchgate caught a train and reached home dog tired exhausted at 9.30pm..

One person who lit up like a Xmas tree on seeing me was my 2 year old grand daughter Marziya Shakir .And I had made sure I carried two packs of wafers for her , she was overjoyed

And I showered had my dinner and this is my bum trip to Murud and back..

I had left Bandra at 9 .30 am today Gudi Padwa day.

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