I am not in a writing mood , I have written a lot with a single finger than I have written with a pen , yes with words a clicking mouse I was smitten a half an apple in the garden of despair I had barely eaten....pain of child birth pangs of life weather beaten..born from a bitter womb will never sweeten..
This child is blessing in life barely out of the womb of the cradle he will be given out on hire for a princely sum , he will be drugged with Benadryl cough syrup , placed in a cloth sling on the waist of another child .. this birth pangs of life that never end.
You will see them both at the Turner Road Traffic Signal baby's first day at work, who says that there is no dignity in labor...
Friday, March 26, 2010
Child Birth Pangs of Life
Life is a Bitch
selling
candles
of hope
a poor child's
sales pitch
to light
on the altar
so you are
spiritually
enriched
life is a bitch
god who works
overtime
so the rich
become more rich
while the
underprivileged
search for hope
in a ditch
in darkness
no candle
no light
god accidentally
turned off the switch
Man is Man's Worst Enemy
man kills man
man is mans
worst enemy
nature kills
man too
animal kills
man too
but man
kills man
ferociously
grievously
seriously
killing his body
his soul
fatally
mercilessly
even today
as he did
previously
Fuck If Only God Had Made Me Blind
I would not have to see
corruption the malaise
in society a world unkind
i would not have
to read the times of india
the hot selling news
the rape of a 12 year
old child whether it
happened or did not happen
only a fuck makes headlines
human values dead
on the soul of a fucked
mankind sometimes
i really wonder if god
was in his senses
when as a cosmic poet
this world gone to seed
within a word he designed
man the sucker
the victim the hunter
the prey
man
devoid of godliness
within god you find
Unpicked Flowers for Sale
on a fucked human trail yes it is humanity that its young one fails
emotions weak and frail worse if it is the cry of a little female
a fucked human tail wags wails only the rich and the mighty
new frontiers can scale a face of sorrow hidden within a veil
human misery wholesale fucking one world to another world we sail
the world is nothing but a dream in transit held captive in a jail
to romeo fraioli ...
sometimes sorrow hides beneath a thumbnail
Fuck and Make More Babies Too
she is drunk
spreads her legs
he pushes it deep
into her
this
is reproduction
of a child
dear sir
fucked forever
on the waists
of other children
drugged
doped and hired
its for a business
proposition
he was sired
no rest
he really
is tired
Hum Hindustani
mil julkar rehne
main maza ata hai
tum kya ho khuda
janta hai pehchan
ta hai
khuda ko bhi insan
se insaniyat ka
nata hai
hindustan main
hindustani bankar
rehne ka maza ata hai
apka mazhab
ap ko salamat
padosi ko bhi
apna banane
ka maza ata hai
ek jalta hua diya
manzil ka rasta
dikhata hai
woh desh jahan
aman ka farishta
bhi rehne ko tayyar
ho jata hai
mujhe hindustan
jane do
hussain ke nam se
pehchana jata hai
hussaiin is humanity
bar bar kehlata hai
sar jhukane se
sar katana behtar hai
ek sabak sikhata hai
shah ast hussain
badshah ast hussain
dilon main gadh jata hai
to jaiprakash of facebook
Chor Bazar Faces Introduction
This is a short segment a set at Flickr of faces that you get to see at Chor Bazar flea market, beware take their permission before you shoot them , as they take offense it is against the religion to be photographed , so say the very conservative.
Some of these pictures are a bit shaky as I did not seek permission and shot them rapidly..
The Chor Bazar is a haven for buyers and sellers , the Chor Bazar that you see on Friday,.
On Friday the main shops are closed so the hawkers and vendors sell their wares on the lanes that make up Chor Bazar, basically two, Mutton Street and Chimna Butcher street .
I have had a very god relationship with the denizens of Chor Bazar, and if you use tthe camera as I use it , you will see the poetry of life dramatically wanting to be seen and noticed..Its a pity I stopped visiting Chor Bazar , this was my Friday regimen I first went to the Kamatipura Flea market than walked barefeet to Chor Bazar..
I am well known in this area is an understatement, I am a human antique shop myself , I do not wish to sound boastful what I wear as jewelry on my body maybe perhaps one of its kind only.. I took pains to design it, and I am not a jewelry designer , I am not any thing I pretend to be I am a hoax but my shadow calls me original.
My poems too are constructed from recycled words , my pictures are ordinary, I saw them placed on the streets , you saw them too, but I captured them with thee vision and imagery of a poet ..a photographer bought up on technique, Fucked F Stops maybe brilliant with his shots but may lack poetry in some cases.
Street Photography for me is the Mother and Soul of Poetry of Lifes Human Comedy , yes I have been bought up on Balzac Dostovesky Dickens writers who used the camera of their minds to describe their characters and the lanes they wrote about, that is why even after their death they are remembered...I call them photographer novelists.
Chor Bazar is not a haven of Thieves , yes stolen goods come here to be sold and mind you everyone gives hafta for the activities they do, this is the soul of the Indian street ethos Corruption.
When I was on my drinking diet , I would sit with a can of beer and watch the deals the Chor Bazar road sellers cracked , Firoze Gold Tooth my chor bazar friend and road side shop keeper has seen those days of my life , and they were sad elusive days without Hope.Though I have not touched a drop since 10 years or more.
During the Friday Namaz time a few road side guys shut their shop and go for their prayers ,there is brisk business after namaz and at about 6 pm they start folding up.
Mostly the unsold goods are taken away by the Chor Bazar shop keepers that will be sold as a lot to another Friday road side seller .. this is life of the street bazar.
There are very rich guys here at Chor Bazar, guys who have visited Italy France USA UK and their trips , are like going for a monthly home town visit.
There are guys from all over the world who come to buy antiques , but there are guys from Zurich who come to buy the stuff sold on the road.
Now because the road side stuff sells like hot cakes , the big dealers loan their unsold stuff from their shops to these guys.. This is Chor Bazar and nobody will tell you the intricacies as I tell you..this is a world apart and now beware this is a Nasha an addiction , if it touches you , you cant give it up at all.
My mother loved the Chor Bazar and would wander through the lanes , but would avoid the lanes I visited.. my mother Shamim Shakir without a camera came here to get peace of mind from hectic domestic chores 7 kids and a wayward husband , finally after she ate khichda she would go to Hazrat Abbas's Dargah at Pala Gully and become one with the spirituality within.
There was a time I was so obsessed with Chor Bazar I would tell Firoze Gold Tooth my friend that if I died my last wish was that my Janaza be carried through the lanes of this unique area and I thought a kindly god listens to a poets plea would see that I died on a Friday flea market day...so I could see all my friends one last time.. and I knew I did not owe any money to the Chor Bazar dealers ..I could write a short story here but of late my daughter has taken up the task of filmy story writing . I am sure she will do a great job .
This post was just a few lines but I have expanded it like a Google Buzz Blog.,
But one last thing I must add there are urchin kids predominantly Muslims who scavenge the area I shot a picture of a group of urchins , and there was pretty pretty girl , I never ever saw her again yes Chor Bazar is a land of distant dreams and sad memories.
Manjula Singh commented on your wall post:
"Thanks Firoze. Your photo blogs are awesome!"
And I dedicate it to my Facebook friend Manjula Singh
.
Smart Ass Taking a Short Cut
no he does not have
a barbers appointment
he is not late
for a haircut
he is late for
a blow job
his mouth shut
her tits and ass
both hard as a nut
no ifs and butts
have scooter
will travel smart ass
taking a short cut
before another customer
catches up with the
uncompromising
office slut
wears nothing but
a bushy thong
with her crew cut
hardcore passion
beneath her skirt
a stenographer
a typist
the sexiest harlot
Living on the Streets of Despair
This is the Matriarch of a family that has been living on the pavement of Bhendi Bazar in Mumbai for four generations, marriages, death , births all on the pavement that is their home..
The Matrirch sells gemstones on the pavement, turqoise, agates moonstones and other such trinkets for the common man on the street..
She is a widow with grown up sons daughters, grandchildren, great grandchildren..and she lives here with pride and dignity.They sleep here , they cook food here and use the common public toilet for their worldly needs and requirement.
I have been shooting this liitle girl her grand daughter and seen her doing her homework on the pavement..and Bhendi Bazar is a cut throat living , drug addicts, drunkards petty criminala pick pocketeers , pimps , dregs of a stubbornly unchanging world is Bhendi Bazar.. a few walks away is Null Bazar and if you take the road straight ahead you will be in the laps of the Mumbai Cages or Peela House, the bylanes behind Bhendi Bazar is Chor Bazar the Market of Thieves, Bohri Mohalla the Foodland of the Bohra community.. hustle and bustle..
This is a family that I shoot and I shoot their grit determination and survival inspite of their poverty and squalor..I pay tribute to their resillience , their fight against all odds.They have no fans , no doors no windows no rooms, just the public path that people pass by in a hurry.In the monsoons its tough, but they have managed bravely, the cloud bursts the floods and the havoc generated by the unstoppable rains..The lady has educated her kids, some of her daughters have homes but the matriarch prefers to sleep on the streets..
This is Mee Mumbaikar..her kids, daughters and sons are absolutely good looking, and you can see that her own beauty lives on within the face of her grand daugher..whom I called my favorite girl child..
I often pray that she gets a better deal in life and a better home a good husband, but I know she will never forget this pavement where she grew up under the protective shade of her grand mothes love..
They know I take their pictures but they dont know I write about them.. they wont even know that beyond the life they live is another exhillerating world of the Internet.
This old Lady was the first one to seduce me into my love for gemstones, she was the one who sold me my first turqoise from Iran- Nishapur.
Whenever I am in the vicinity I pay my respect to her and her family..
Yeh Hai Mumbai Meri Jaan..
This is Mumbai my Life..
ps
Because of an annoying tool called Word Verification that hampers creativity of thought even as I cross blog from Flickr to Blogspot, I have decided no more posting at Blogspot for me..
I think Word Press is the best bloggng site their whizz kids always creating short cuts to success, and a single Matt is more than all the old fogies at Blogspot and most of these snoring Blogspot dudes should be retired witha golden handshake or sent away into the high seas on a yacht like Biz Stone in cybernetic exile..
Shabbir of Bhendi Bazar
The gemstone dealers of Bhendi Bazar with their boxes , on the road selling gems might seem ordinary , but they have clients that come in fancy cars to buy their stuff..
They have everything and this stall is mere facade , they have rare stones including neelam kerbas etc..
I bought my first kerba amber here I have some good ones , I got some good beads from Shabbir , his father Mohomed bhai wore chunky rings like I wear..
This is a strange place I spent a lot of time here after I came out from Chor Bazar on Fridays after wandering the streets shooting stuff and buying it too.. if one place and the junk I bought home upset my wife it was always Chor Bazar.
The only person in Bollywood who understands and loves junk jewelery , and the only person with taste and culture and mijaz for , exotic chunky gemstones , antique silver jewelry is Ms Dimple Kapadia.
Ms Dimple Kapadia is a fan of what I wear and is the only person who knows the truth worth of my passion for my stuff specially hand crafted for me by Azad Hussain my silver smith.
Ms Dimple Kapadias silver jewelery collection that she allowed me to see is out of this world..I was very close to her sister late Simple Kapadia..we were working together on a project before she left for her heavenly abode far too prematurely.
I Thought Having Big Lenses Made you a Big Photographer
I Thought Having Big Lenses Made you a Big Photographer, originally uploaded by firoze shakir photographerno1.
I thought
having big lenses
made you a
big photographer
i was sadly wrong
i began unlearning
photography
from the pictorial mafioso
of Wollongong
a Frenchman from Reunion
who came along
and Bawa who told me
you are known
by your shadow
not just by your Dong..
lyrics dont always
make a song
sometimes
having fallen in love
not having married
is a moment lifelong
LOVE-IS LOVES-REWARD
"SIR: Poseyal : KNIGHT of the DESPOSYNI Pro User says:
seems he wears his love
on his arms
love is silver
love is gold
love in bone
love is uknown
love is the only reward...... all else is flesh and bone
i was fucked
much before
i could
fuck my luck
in her back yard
love is
pimping
for sympathy
without
a visiting card
not even your testes
from the vagaries
of fucked love
can you safeguard
falling in love
failing in love
all the way to the
graveyard
although
she deleted
me from her
fucked
consciousness
it hit me hard
she loves
an unpoetic guy
physical Adonis
mental retard
this was a
textless post
took me off guard
barefeet bard
hardcore shia
diehard
she once
called me
a frickin
shia thug
my soul
she scarred
my multi colored
arrogant hot
spicy india ass
she charred
blow cold
blow hard
for my street
humility
my pedestrian pathos
she had no regard
using third party
facebook
application
my fucked fate
she loved
to bombard
from the karmic
circle
of her white
supremacist circle
i was disbarred
she had taken a liking
for my best friend Bernard
a shadow boxer
who designs graphic
post cards
in a poets cemetery
on an unmarked grave
reads a sign
love is loves reward
here lies a fucked
cosmic poet
buzznet discard
his family jewels
on display and sale
in a junkyard
I have updated this post today 25 March 2010
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