Sunday, March 21, 2010

Touch Me Not

sizzling simran
always hot
making love
on a creaking cot
with an androgynous robot
metallic almost like
the horny
buzznets buzzbot
their lucky mascot
total sexpot
buzzbot was blindfolded
searching for
the hijras missing twat
while simran kept
pushing off his thrusts
with touch me not
fuck me not
this as an after thought
entwined they fought
fear fraught
in the darkness
of the parking lot
simran sizzling
some what
sex a stolen
between the haves
and the have-nots
watched by voyeurs
cybernetic crack pots
some dudes taking
snapshots shot after shot
till they heard gunshots
within earshot
there was a twist in this
bollywood filmy plot
simrans ex boyfriend
had made his grand entry
eyes blood shot
two loaded guns
one in his pants
one in his hand
a bullet
on buzzots ass
got caught
another ht
missing twat
to both parties
beyond this
what happened
might tell
you but cannot
they got
what they got
simran can piddle
but she cannot squat
as for buzzbot
his memory mass
at the church of eunuchs
forget him not
pray for his fucked soul
a cosmic poet
he begot

i have not stopped laughing after i wrote this poem..

Happy Parsi New Year From The Shakirs

Happy Parsi New Year From The Shakirs

Buried Alive Hussain Tekri Jaorah

Man Superman

portrait of pain
in the soul
of man
mans soul
that god created
as hope for his clan
threaded it
to a cosmic plan
but man smarter than god
took the fire from gods soul ran ran ran
because he thought
what god could do
he could too
as man superman

The Untouchables of Hussain Tekri Jaorah

The Untouchables of Hussain Tekri Jaorah

The one person who knows more about these rituals and the scenes of possession here is my Flickr friend Serif or Ghulam Chippa , his sister lives close to Hussain Tekri so he has first hand knowledge and it was Ghulam who with his innumerable comments on my Hussain Tekri posts at Flickr threw an insight into an esoteric world a world that is really a journeys end.... dark side of the moon..
Thank you Ghulam Bhai.

The Devils Handmaiden 4

The Devils Handmaiden 3

The Devils Handmaiden 2

Women Watching Lifes Bioscope

life at both ends
a burning rope
women born losers
created by
a male macho god
for a male
dominated society
a downward slope
woman a fucked future
no hope
fucked by the astrologer
who created
her fucked horoscope
women watching
the blogs
of lifes bioscope
woman a tunnel
that light gropes
woman mans
in the garb
of a misanthrope

Women In Chains

why do we chain our women
why do we cause them pain
we crush their beauty and their brain
over their minds their bodies
their souls we reign
man born of a woman
sells her for gain
a prostitute her destiny
a thought so plain
woman enslaved
manacled in chains
as she ploughs
this rough terrain
her tears her lifes story
all in vain
helen of troy
or a plain jane
being a woman
is a womans bane
the blows that rain
she wont complain
within her womb
she carries her pain
a street performer
born to entertain
in mans domain
a shattered
bleeding window pane
a mutilated hymen
she wont regain

Most of the women are locked up to the doors of the shrines,most of them because of their mental condition are violent prone, children hit them with rocks, as they are hitting the demon within her and sparing her woman hood...
Somebody a kinder variety pushes food on a newspaper , somebody throws a coin yes this is an amphitheatre the woman fighting the gladiators of her sanity...
I shoot pain in eye ball.. most of the time their pain shoots me..
a young journalist friend som patidar told me "sir you are very emotional.'
We my kind are poet photographeres we emotionalize a piece of rock..yes even rocks are worshipped as women...
I know when I was growing up in Colaba , there were notorious elements I heard who after bouts of heavy drunkness would rape a mad woman sleeping on the streets ...nobody bothered ...she got pregnant , moved away..
ward boys , lunatic asylums , cancer hospital, womens home, womens prison, in gods home where is woman really safe in her grave or on the burning pyre..

These are depressing thoughts and I have come home for lunch...

Women Possessed

Mostly in India at the Dargahs it is Women who are Possessed , I have seen but was not allowed to shoot..mostly the possessed women shake their hair like a lions mane , they have stupendous strength , some are so beautiful that ...well I wont say it .The Devil sure has beautiful devotees and a keen eyes as a connoisseur of Beauty..
Now I will continue this segment in the night..
These are 9 Cds all on the Home Comp..

Life is a Lavatory

Of the thousands and hundred thousands that come here from all over India for Chehlum, this is the communal toilet cum bath house, the poor people who cant afford rooms in the lodge , live on the streets, makeshift tents in the fields on the grave yards.This lavatory all the feces , urine the dirt passes straight into the pond that people bathe in for penance..
The stink is nauseating , I dont think you could stand near the pond for more than 5 minutes..

And all this flows into the Shaitan pool where the possessed or those doing penance bathe , bury themselves in the soggy filthy mud of the sewage pond.

And because I am a student studying the lyrical notes of pain as it strums the wires of my soul, I wanted to hand my camera to someone and jump into the pond I know I would be retching but I would not die my death is not marked in a pool of despair I am already condemned to the pool of life .. living too is a slow death too and I bet you never thought of this before.

A Woman Possessed Hussain Tekri Jaorah

A Woman Possessed

her life
from within
from without
totally messed
jilted by the
man she loved
with love
she had caressed
a devils handmaiden
her soul transgressed
woman oppressed
woman obsessed
woman distressed
a tale of a woman
time on a backfoot
woman unblessed
pain and life
uneven conquest
death will be her release
you have rightly guessed

Man needs an excuse to throw a woman out of doors or lock her up for life just get the sanction of society proclaim her insane ..she is gone for good this is not my devils mind at work this is the harsh reality of mans dominance over woman..
woman has been burnt at the stake for giving birth to a baby with horns on his heads , woman has been burnt by the stove for more reasons than one..the only cursed element on this planet with a noose hanging around her neck is woman..

and this poem written today while updating this old post at flickr is my tribute to a girl child ..she will become a woman too and they are waiting for her head at the market square of life..

now perhaps you will understand why i listen to nohas when i blog

The Possessed 5

One Sided Contacts at Flickr / Possession

All these people are in the chains of possession , and I was lucky I could shoot them, this was the first time I was shooting this series seriously..and for years I had not posted these pictures on the net..I was not a blogger be a blogger you have to be generous , less miserly than photo selling photographer , and I dont begrudge them , my love for this medium is not my source of income I stitch a gents line..that keeps the fires burning.. similarly the photographer has is duty too, but when you come on the net as a photographer you will be called a photo blogger per se..
You cant sell your pictures on Flickr but you can link it to a website that does..Flickr is for knowledge and into titillation too , there are more tits and twats on Flickr than you might ever see in a flesh flea market too.. but to each his own.. I dont get upset with sex or sexuality but I do when somebody adds me here at Fickr without my consent it is known as one side contacts you have to block him to get rid of your thumbnail from his contact list..And this is is the biggest pain for me on Flickr.. the member does not read your profile page before adding you which strictly my case

Unauthorized use or reproduction of my pictures or text for any reason is prohibited ...


DO NOT ADD ME AS A CONTACT if you have tasteless masturbationally self-indulgent crap on your page!..find someone of your own kind dont subject me to blocking you - which I will if I see my thumbnail on your contacts page.




The Possessed 3

The Possessed 2

The Possessed 1

These are people in various stages of possession, what is depressing they are accompanied by their kids who are in more despair and pain than the person possessed.
I was really not much into shooting all this as I had come here specifically to shoot the Shia Moharam the scourging this was a kind of add on..
The Mujawirs would glare at me as they did not want all this to be recorded , this is a money racket too...
Poor get conned , as they have no alternative .
I knew a man who worked at Khoja Florist at Bandra, he had left his wife at the Shrine dormitory fot the afflicted ..this was deeply hurting a thought ...but he was sure she would be healed he sent her and the guardian the necessary expenditure money for the long stay.

People leave their relatives here those who are terminal not part of this narrative..people bring their kids to beg here is a reality this is a spiritual fair almost akin to a Urus ..but for the Shhia who throng here it is the mourning for Chehlum.. 40 day of the martyrdom of Imam Hussain.

Actually the Chehlum here takes place a day before Mumbai Chehlum so guys plan their trip in such a way they catch up the Chehlum juloos too..

And there are Mumbaikar Shias who prefer Hussain Tekri Chehlum to Mumbai too.

And as my pictures have a target audience that is cosmopolitan , I have named this as Non Shia Ritualism at Hussain Tekri Jaorah..

The Shias dont indulge in all this as a community..but they do believe in the holistic power of healing of the Hussain Tekri Shrines of the Ahle Bayt.

Colloquially Hussain Tekri Jaorah is known as a spiritual hospital for mentally terminal cases.

Possession And Photography

Sometimes I wonder in the night when I go to sleep , my tired camera in the darkness of the camera cupboard all by itself with a Nikon F 100 for company , does it cry does it narrate the happening of the day to his analogue cousin.. I hardly use a film camera I bought it for Rs 60000 or more and it is not worth shit, and Nikon India should at least take it back from us for having faithfully shot with Nikon and not allowing Atul Kasbekar or other Canon gods to influence us with their Canon promoting spiel. they should take it back and give us a a nice Nikon digital as gratis for our faith in there brand.. but do you think they care .No they dont.

Well back to my camera in the camera cupboard it cries I am sure it has seen more pain as a camera than man has in a similar situation , I had the CCD sensor cleaned at Nikon India Saki Naka for Rs 552 , my camera Nikon D80 is brand new now , without the Moharam blood stains , the gulal of Lord Ganesha and the colors of Holi .. my camera was saved the sands of bullock cart racing at Alibagh and Murud.

And the Nikon D80 I am talking about is my original one badly battered but still tough and not the same body that Glenn sent me as my Hanukah present.. he forgot the wide angle lens and the battery ..I forgive him.. his soul is more important than the camera body.

And if you dont have poetry within you what the fuck are you going to shoot even if you have the most expensive camera in your hand.. you should shoot pictures people should read it as poetry ha ha ha and if you cant feel poetry than you should join Times of India , Mumbai Times they are retiring their old photographers and are searching for raw talent on a stipend of course...Money Matters per cc too..And this is the No 1 Newspaper group that really needs Helpppppppppppppppppppppppppppppp in terms of a makeover ..shooting only Kasab is not photography...

Possession lies in the eye of the Possessed

This is hardcore possession at Hussain Tekri Jaorah and all this becomes a cacophony of raucous chaos shouts and screams of pain when the loban smoke is given to them , I did not shoot that moment I had been warned by the Sunni custodians of the Shrines with harsh measures..So I kept away as it is I had some problems with a few people here from my own community ..its an old story I have forgotten it..but God save you from the Shia bigot too.. he is the worst calamity facing the humanity of our Faith as the humility of Imam Hussain.. I will discuss this in another topic .. I will.

So Hussain Tekri Jaorah and all these picture that I am updating did not have text I am updating them as I am posting these links to Facebook.

I shoot ritualism connected to exorcism and possession..I shoot pain and it is what binds man to man more powerfully than any religiosity..some religions have Pain on the same pedestal as their divinity too..Pain is what adds to the humanity and vulnerability of man..

I knew a Bawa at the Makhdoom Shah Bawa Dhuni Mahim he ate hot coals from the fire and was happy smoking his chillum..

And it was this quest for pain that sent me on a leather hunt I have been documenting the body piercing Rafaees since 7 years or more..I chose the Chancawalli Rafaees of the Chand Shah Wali dargah Andheri East as my pictorial subject and had I taken up Shahenshah Bawas offer to become his chela I would have become a full fledged rafaee piercing my eye balls , piercing my chest cutting my tonge but I politely refused I did the real thing cutting my head with a sword during Moharam and shedding real blood experiencing , overcoming pain in the name of Hussain was my ultimate goal.. no I could not see myself as a Rafaee at all..I could not leave my pact and allegiance from Hussain to Ghaus just would not be possible my Shiasm was born in my mothers womb I was happy with the status quo..

I am treated withrespect among the Malangs Bawas and Rafaees as I respect them their ideology without diluting my own with what they have to offer..recently at Fakhruddin Shah Babas Urus a crazy doped Rafaees slashed my stomach with a sword I stood my ground felt the pain but with the power of my mind did not allow it to harm might call this bullshit but than you are not me dont live the life I live..

The Bawa and I are the best of friends he is the craziest bawa I have met in my life and I told him I will pay him handsomely if he does his sword slashing on Glenn Losacks white know what ha ha ..and I get to shoot the picture of the ritual for posterity..

The Possessed Man's Cry

chained to ancient
satanic law
flapping his chicken neck
in a devils claw
man clings to save
his drowning soul
from a locked jaw
mired waters
hope as
a last straw
as they beat him
from his putrid flesh
his dead blood draw
some who
mock laugh and guffaw
from this world of
superstitious pain
his soul wont withdraw
beating his head
breaking his head
mercy ya allah
reliving life
unliving life
a tragic life flaw

I shot this many years back on Chehlum day at Hussain Tekri Jaorah and he was hungry.. not just for food...

Cry In The Wilderness

a home
no address
streets of pain
life's barrenness
a poem of life
words cant express
failure thy
name is success
man a burden of sorrow
beneath his dress
my pictures
a picture of time
standing still
man in distress
a fall from grace
with a few coins
they bless
poetic pathos
poetic pain
poetic angst
poetic anguish
mans humility
at gods largess
he created chaos
from silence
ahinsa from violence
need i stress
trampled by
in the name
of progress

These are pictures of Hussain Tekri Jaorah , as I am posting the links to Facebook I am re seeing them in a new light call it poetry , I am updating the silence of my post..these pictures tire and sadden me but this iis what I shoot and these are pictures I shot before I was influenced by Glenn Losack who shoots pain as poetically as I do..

I could write poems on his pictures as I understood the metaphor of pain in my backyard , and I could not write poems on his pictures of Dominican Republic or Haiti..dont ask me why..I epitomized his transgenders, gay parade people as American Hijdas..

I have been depressed for sometime and this set has made me stronger , I shoot pictures the way I feel I should shoot them , I cant shoot my pictures like you or like Glenn..I could have taken this picture face on , but it was his body language his despair as man without a face I shot.. the form the outline was more important to me it was the essence of my belief in pain.

When I shot this I was raw , quite new to photography ,Hussain Tekri Jaorah is the place I leant photography I learnt to shoot pain..without the trappings of the paraphernalia it carries with it..I shot pain as an outline reached the core on the basis of this premise.

Hussain Tekri Jaorah is a one time experience for the poetry in me I would not burn myself out again, but yes to get this moment of despair I would go to other similar places , my genre is pain devoted t exorcism rituals possession without its study without its notes simply pictures .. you read pain and understand it poetically.

And it is tough shooting pictures like this dressed as I am..but I would not compromise on my dress code..Once a friend of mine close to a thespian of Bollywood wanted me to go to his house to measure him to make a suit but he insisted wear normal clothes I said what my soul would tell a million times Fuck You..

You either take me as I am or dont take me at all.. there are big name in the profession that I am in you can choose anyone its your call your choice,,..I am happy to be what I am..

I dont shock or defy norms I dress simple for a funeral, I wear only black all Moharam , I dont go for weddings or parties .. Moharam is the spiritual frugality of my soul.Moharam in my life will end the day I end..and perhaps live on if my kids dont delete my Flickr Facebook Word Press Blogspot Twitter accounts after my Death..

Its their call ..

I have given them my password too.

My Throat They Will Slit

i am a
sacrificial goat
my fate i
cannot outwit
to allahs writ
i submit
to appease the
soul of humanity
with my blood
my throat
they will slit
bakra idd
wear new outfits
sheer korma
some tidbits
yes i am a
goat going
to heaven
but on earth
in transit
for the butcher
i sit

The Devils Tree Stump

He is possessed and finds himself nowhere to go..

Beggar Boyz

once born as humans
spawned of defective eggs
lying on the floor
gods own unbranded dregs
spindle like bodies
spindle like legs
dodged as digital
burnt as negs

Woman on a Burning Roof Top

her pain was immense
silence in the winds
soundless pin drop
waves after waves
of maddening memories
that she could not stop
as i write this sitting
in my shop
no greater hatred
than hatred of man
through religiosity
as the bombs drop
masjids where shia pray
grenades they lob
these so called
allahs name tarnishing
radical nabobs
if you commit a crime
in muslim countries
your hands they will chop
the laws of sharia beyond
a full stop
but if you kill
the heretic
the kaffir
take hostages
besiege masjids
you are proclaimed as a jehadi
allah ho akbar
from minaret tops
a weeping picture
a circle of confusion
angle of focus
robbed of a depth of field
beyond Fucked f stops


The cart at the back, the shadows on the floor , its a hot day add a chapter ear marked of the story of man.
He knows nothing about the internet.
Ask him who is the Prime Minister of the country.?
He will reply Hunger.
Ask him who is the President of the Country ?
He will reply Thirst.
He knows nothing as a beggar he has lost his birthright as man.
He is a zoological biological animal.
Yes I shoot beggars add it as poetry to my anthology of pain.
The war in Iraq , the kidnapping of the English girl in Nigeria, the terrorism sponsored by radicals, the Glasgow bomb affair, nothing bothers him, he too is interconnected , wired to a supreme being..his window opens each morning when he sets out to beg, another window opens , when somebody drops a few coins in his battered utensil, you go close by , ask him how did this happen , that bought you down to earth.. a window opens cannot be displayed, refresh try again, go back to the earlier site..
You make another attempt ..this times the screens goes buzznet black..beggar will be back shortly..
But you wont give want to leave a comment on his page , you have nothing else to do, and luckily the asshole who is posting this is not showing our Muslim woman in a hijab sleeping like him, crippled and begging otherwise you would have to give vent that it is the fucked white western man that has done us in.. us means Muslims.,
Today is your day off so you dont have to shoot tazbis, again camera in hand you come closer , through the ninja folds of your hijab you take another pot shot..
this time it says very clearly SERVER CANNOT BE FOUND...

server a somnolent god
cannot be found
he wanted to save humanity
he got caught in the floods
luckily he did not drown
a world he made of whites
blacks yellows and browns
wise men and all stupid women
preachers as clowns
cities as graveyards
crematoriums as towns
fucked names nouns and pronouns
anti humanity
we thus announce
what the fuck
our own parentage
of mankind
we openly renounce
silence of the lambs
slaughtered to
appease a god
bleeding throttled
poems as sounds
seeking the moon
with his ears touched to
scorched famine
infested ground
to save our bodies
our souls we impound

A Womans Lot

She was possessed in a very bad way sitting outside the Shrine of Hazrat Ali at Hussain Tekri Jaorah.
Her family was around silently watching her fall from human grace, her children well that is the larger story of human despair.
She was taking a stone and hitting away at the cemetery slabs..her cyclopes eye like my camera eye , both strangely assessing each other .
I could write a poem her , but than woman's life is a poem , you have to read it like a poet.. to understand her soul barricaded in a war zone of a sad poetry.
Woman is an unending anthology of pain ans suffering..
Luckily she is not in a Hijab or you would have the Flickr Mujhaidas kicking my butt to get their warped point like a stake up my multicolored ass.
I feel ashamed to hear that the West has done all this to Islam.
Islam has been dented by none but its own misguided over zealousness penetrated by its handful of disgruntled elements.. its again back to Karbala , Yazidiyat lives like a serpent whose head is cut but the poison remains spreading like a cancerous growth.
Why go very far take the case of the Glasgow incident , doctors who promised to save lives are become Doctors of Death.I show a begging Muslim woman they gouge my camera eyes and my balls, but the mayhem , kids used as shields, women made into jehadis snatched from their parents with an ideology of Hate is certainly not Islam that my Shia parents taught me.

If my parents were filled with hate , I would not be what I am.
With all their shortcomings, poverty , they gave us good basic education never compromising , always allowing us to live with love with our Hindu, Christian, Parsi Buddhist neighbours.
I studied in a Catholic school but I think I am not doing to bad as a Muslim either.
So Ovaz why the fuck have you shut up?
You wanted to know if I am Anti Islam ..I am when Muslims do Anti Islam stuff to draw attention to their own distorted mentalities led by Rogue Mullahas.
You wanted to know by my artistecness or some shit used .
Did your Muslim parents not teach you how to respect your elders?
Bad mouthing for god sake grow up... dont remain stunted like your dwarfed parents..who I am sorry to say taught you Zilch..
So this is words that rise as my anger from within..yes it is not very easy to be a fool or tolerate a fool..
Women who pass a comment on my stuff with sheer hate here at Flickr as though they own me and my fucked soul..
Go give all your shit to your henpecked husband instead of dumping your matrimonial frustrations on me.
Go shoot tazbis.

Baby go away

the wells are dry
there is no water today
no there is no more to say
come tomorrow
with your bottles and pay
you see i am busy
now please go away
said the water tanker man
i have had a very busy day

Yes I am a Leper!

defoliated of flesh of my childhood
defrauded by fate of my adulthood
deep frozen wounds of my dead motherhood
a degenerative lepers world
a world defunct degraded misunderstood
diseased decripit dehumanized deadwood
demoralized depraved despicable
desecrated desentized dethroned womanhood
yes i am a leper discriminated discouraged
discredited discarded disjointed
disembodied disrespected dried defiled
dissipated debauched disembarked detached driftwood
a message they read but hardly understood..

This was a lady ashamed to show her face , almost like biblical times the segregation, the hate , all I could see were her disgruntled clawed hand that were losing the fingers , a few coins were thrown at her by the passersby .
Yes she was a leper so was I when I shot her to be infected by her despair..

Man born as a Cry

when he is born
his new world
drowned in a cry
as he grows
his tears will dry
his life a see saw
sometimes low
sometimes high
his freckled fate
he will defy
marry have children
relearn to cry
every moment
hidden in the folds of a sigh
when his last time comes
he will say goodbye
time to leave time to die
those around the grave
black clothes
widows weed
all unlearning to cry
this is one path
they too will cross
before they pass by
a wind a whisper
that wont say why
you came you lived
you saw you died
shy bashful your body
hidden in the folds of the earth
with you
you take your
vanity and your pride
humility as your tombstone
by your new bed site

The Story of Man!

If there was a god
he would not do this to man
if god was human and man was man
man born of woman and of man
man enslaved to coins and to man
life a wheel barrow carrying the corpse of man
would it have been better if he was culled this man
when he was born defective demeaning man
begging for a living from man to man
not born an animal cannibal man
highly explosive inflammable man
a hijda a eunuch transgendered man
a coward a fighter a dream defying man
a nightmare that does not get over
the unending story of inhuman man

I had a severe pain in the chest I closed shop with great difficulty, came home took a disprin slept awhile , just had few morsels completed this poem...

Do we really care?

we give them a few measly coins
our sanctimonius souls we bare
we have no time for sympathy
we have no time to spare
shattered battered beggar lives
even god has no time to repair
they also serve
who only stand and stare
we pity them
more than pity
we have nothing
human to share
we who pass judgement on others
couched to our armchairs
tears that drop from hollows no eyes
recycled waste of hoplessness
empty handed prayers
no answers only blanks
as never ending questionnaires
this world was not meant for the poor
but microsoft , google yahoo
and other such millionaires

The Overseer

The little kid is on a job, he is working for the Hyderabad Irani hoteliers who distribute food freely to the pilgrims, his job is to see there in discipline, no ugliness , no running out of turn, handling women well even modern God would give up.
He keeps a switch in his hand , he uses it on the girls more than the women, everybody offers him a smile a nice word , I have seen him allow the prettier girls to move up the front of the line, oh he is a naughty boy.
I caught him later and reminded him , he blushed lost for words, than blurted out oh she is like sister to me..I became aware of my childhood days when my horny friends would go on the terrace and in the neighboring building there was this wench, who loved kids we would drop our nickers and show off our healthy erections..
yes boys will be boys..

Life is a Bed Of Thorns

This is an ascetic Sufi mendicant who sleeps on thorns , this is his penance , this is something I plan to learn one day...

apni rah
main kate bhichaye the
kuch adhure khab
jo hamari taqdeer ne
pyar main
humo dikhaye the
lamhe jo hamne
apni zindgai se
bhulaye the
woh aj
bhuli bisri
yaden bankar
hamse takraye the
apne paraye the

Ma Ke Bina Jeevan..Andhera Hi Andhera

ma jeevan ka savera
man ke bina jeevan
andhera hi andhera

The Possessed Woman in Pain

I am tired , I type with the index finger of my injured right hand, I came home from my shop at 10pm, my insulin shot , light meal a cup of black tea , these pictures I am posting...
This was another sad case , most of them are young women..they should b at home tending their children but such is their fate they are caught in the mouthof a demonic force, the husband who had sent her back to her parents home will another more stable womsn.The parents of this woman who have bought her here might give her company,otherwise they will slip away in the cover of the night to let her fend for herself , its a living graveyard ..Hussain Tekri Jaorah...

Darkness at Dawn

the devil
his children did spawn
man mankind
swan song
went wrong
at dawn..
evil to
evil reborn..
a rose
by the penile
head of a thorn

Shaitan Pool

Blessed are the Meek
they dont know what they seek
They have tongues
but cannot speak ..
the Flesh is willing
but the Spirit is weak
on the soul of reality
only pain unique
where slapped on one side
you give the other cheek
life a gutter a future
very bleak ..
at hussain tekri jaorah
the shaitan pool
where souls take a leak

Incomplete Story Of Pain

Shooting pain, requires sensitivity and understanding , shooting pain is paying respect to the realty of man, because I hurt I live because I bleed I live..Pain is different from person to person , and can be interpreted in more ways than one..being a Shia pain is the core essence of a spiritual belief a religiosity akin to humanity Ghame Hussain.

But I shoot pain as I see pain on the viewfinder of my parched soul, I absorb pain , I know places I cried howled shot pain, of course there was no one around to shoot my wolfish cries , my screaming cries I cried at Ajmer I cried during Moharam events I cried when my patron Mrs Rupa Gupta of Spectra Motors died , I felt something had died within me , she loved me as her brother and I have never forgotten her.

And all this falls within the hazardous territory of pain..and feeling pain is fine but feeling and shooting pain requires the heart and soul of a poet..I was lucky I was able to poetize pain..

And where they teach photography will they talk about shooting pain or poetizing pain..Pain is a million miles away they wont even talk to the student about blogging , such is the pompous pedantic view held by brilliant photographers , they have just entered the firmament of the blog,...and I walked away from their salon fucked world for good..I became human as a photographer I was a rhymester I became a poet of pain..

And I am not denigrating photography or photographers but change is the law of nature , I learnt more photography seeing pictures of Tom Andrews at Buzznet , he was my first American photo Guru much before I became friendly with a poet photographer Dr Glenn Losack MD

I ran away from camera culture for good , I did not want to end as picture on a fucked wall of posterity..I am nothing but a garden and I share my growth with all, that is why I decided , I could not be better than my Guru, I would never want to be better than my Guru but yes I will make a two year old child a better photographer a human photographer than all my Gurus.. and because she is my grand daughter there is an affinity of soul and blood too.

Photography is not camera aperture or Fuck F stops its a poetry of life and the computer , the net has made it easier for the Guru and the chela too..imagery is what matters seeing God in the puddles of a gutter is photography and not just shooting him through stained window pains of a cathedral..

Yes I am a gutter photographer I shoot life's gutter that runs across my soul and I let the waters of the gutter touch the soul of a two year old photographer too..

And you dont have to agree with me at all or my views I speak for myself and my grand daughter ..imagine writing this beneath a picture at a camera club .. forget reading it they might think I have lost it.. I almost did.. Not Anymore ..

Man the Wanton Seed

not children
but disease
is what
he breeds
upholding caste
color and creed
he loves to bleed
god speed
a world
he cannot feed

Falling In Love The Final Betrayal

look what love
has done to me
his mortal wounds
his sacrificial soul
his fall from grace
he showed to me
words lisping
life's poetry
in sheer humility
to tortured memories
he could never ever
be free however hard
from her silhouette
he tried to flee
he had deleted her
from his fucked
she had made him
a zombie
she lived
within him
sucking him
choking him
with the pallu
of her turquoise
blue saree

iske bad ab kiski bari

Man Made of Mud

man made of mud
flesh bone and blood
flies on the wings
of angels
falls with a thud
caught in the
throes of logic
dogma dreams
of the absurd
a mind
without method
in a word
to keep himself alive
his own
he has butchered
in the name of god
in the name of religiosity
millions he has murdered
his angst his hate
his delusions
his dilemmas
on the unborn
he has

to benn bell
om mani padme hoon
inward outward

to add him as friend for life
in my ears god whispred
a suggestion as on facebook
my soul heard added and twittered