Thursday, March 18, 2010

Kids of the Gutter Diggers

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These are the children that are born in the gutters of a woman's womb, and this is without disrespect to womanhood or motherhood..their mothers and their fathers spent their lives in the sewers , open gutters and this is their path to nirvana..they work as daily paid workers for the local municipality , their bodies are always smothered with dirt filth and feces..

Normally this lot that I shoot on my way to my work place are gutter scavengers , they search for gold particles at Bandra Jain Mandir Road where there are gold smith shops..and gradually collect a bit of gold that they sell back to the jewelers and return to their family homes in Andhra Pradesh.

I normally dont shoot kids in a state of undress but this childs look at me got the better of me as a street photographer , she was conveying a million things in a cosmic second.

And they play close to open gutters but they will never fall into it , these are born gutter kids , they have been weaned in the gutter of life...I remember telling the contractor where they were working about safety measures and he retorted these kids are much smarter and he was right.

They have no fear of the gutters , the gutters is their life's playground and these are pictures I shoot I leave them without text and again while I shot them today I thought of elaborating on the nature of their destiny interlinked to the gutter , there is no getting away from it..and this time Rahebar Khan the local independent corporator with leanings towards the Congress I ,has opened up all the gutters to widen and upgrade them with concrete foundations , and the work continues in all the three lanes Ice Factory Lane , Chinchpokli lane and Bandra Jain Mandir road.

And as my life I manacled to Mumbai I am a prisoner of circumstances my surroundings and my emotions..I shoot all this , and as I dont yearn for Utopia or a Camelot in another man or woman's back yard I shoot the gutter of life as it cuts across my own soul.

Because I shoot pictures as poetry , I have no longings searching another dream world beyond where I live , I would never do the Haj where my beliefs my faith lies under siege..this is my personal opinion nothing can change it..

I have never been to Karbala or Najaf or Sham or Iran , they seem to be very far away from my destiny , I am grounded to my mother country and I am happy breathing the ar of the nativity of my poetic soul.

I have no desire for foreign lands , I am happy where I am..

If I die I would have only one regret not being able to pay off my limited liabilities to my creditors , friends who helped me when I was totally down.

Death is the only reality that gives me a reason to live , without cutting my wrist to emotionalize the pain of not living...

And so shooting a small child a by product of a gutter can bring you out from the gutter of your despondency and despair...yes the child held me with a glance accusingly mocking my camera and me .. he lashed my soul..

He said Photographer you are a Gutter Too...

Marziya Shakir Press Photographer No1

121,787 items / 819,411 views

gifted grand daughter
a born photographer
before she learnt
to crawl
she played
with a camera
before she played
with a barbie doll
fuck f stops
shutter speed
aperture and all
the soul of humanity
rise and downfall
children of the streets
the beggars big and small
even a tiny brick
can be a soul
of the wall
its not your height
your grandeur
but your humility
that makes you tall

The Hijras Cup of Sorrow

man made
sculpted silently
woven sorrow
on a loom
boxed in airtight
a feminine ferocity
musky man woman
like perfume
a bride for the
reluctant bridegroom
the hijra on a path
of androgynous
animosity and doom
for the elusive
mothers womb
her trans gender
tragedy a painful
buried standing
in her tomb
only a handful
of tears
when she
is exhumed

Zindagi Ki Is Mod Par Sab Milte Hain

ki is mod par
sab milte hain
rahe guzar main
chirag jalte hain
jaise bagiche
main phool
khilte hain
ki ad se bachkar
insan hone
ke nate
ka ahem farz
ada karte hain

Slumming The Soul of Mumbai

Beggars Love Shooting Photographers Too

Firstly all the beggars I shoot I give them money I am not just shooting pictures but shooting the unchanging face of human society.

Beggary will always remain as long as this world is run by cannot disappear by using a magic wand.

Being a photographer who shoots pain , this is my subject on the canvas board of life.

Can you imagine a world without beggars you cant stop bullshitting ourselves to sleep beggars sell God more effectively than religious leaders or saints...Allah ke Name more often raucously heard in most of the streets of despair..than Bhagwan Ke Nam Pe..

For a beggar his God is a God that belongs to everyone..and beggars dont need cameras to shoot the bareness of a photographers soul ... they shot me effectively too..

I dedicate this to my American friend family all rolled in one Dr Glenn Losack MD the patron Saint of all beggars in Delhi ..and Mumbai..

The Black Hole of Silence

My work space
is next to a shop
that sells
sanitary ware ..
i look at them
my thoughts
i bare
each time
i see the toilet seat
i know the only
time we are human
our humanity share
relieving a ritual
on the toilet seat
or on the road
getting rid
of our delusions
our bad dreams
our despair
a messy job
beyond compare
has sat
on this seat
of wisdom
religious heads
poets writers
political hacks
without fan fare
the black hole
of silence
that leads

to bernie my best friend

Sometimes I Hate Shooting This

no not to
your guilty
a thought
you can
street reality
even god
wont change
so does it matter
even if you
take it amiss
being born
as a woman
was an
a reservoir of
pain as is where is

Why Does My Camera See What Your Eyes Dont See

you have no time
you are so busy seeing
beautiful things
littering your path
my path is narrow crooked
cobbled poetically
raw and unrefined
i see
the ancestral pain
of womanhood
as it falls
on my cameras
freezing my emotions
till i hit the trigger
capturing a dream
that has gone sour
a dry wilting scar

please read this as reality as I was not attempting poetry anyway..

The End Of The Road

the road of pain
no beginning no end
muslim beggar woman
her pain
her childrens pain
she must tend
a few alms
will not change
her future
her doomed
she must fend
we build
grand mosques
great madarsas
house of bricks
we are contend
while we have no
time or the inclination
broken houses
or broken souls mend
the malaise
of sanctimonious
male dominated
Muslim society
expensive goats
money spend
the slaughtered soul
of her doomed
no time to attend
a helping hand
we wont extend
jihad for a better life
for the Muslim woman
education we suspend
a woman's reservation bill
is all that matters
for political machinations
for political convenience
why do the netas pretend
while the muslim poor woman
waits at the end of the tunnel
back bend her faith her
only best friend from
the hand that rocked
the cradle into
the cavernous hole
of her grave
she will blend

Rehabilitation is something that is Missing from the Life of a Poor Muslim Beggar Woman