Monday, March 29, 2010

Handicapped By Birth

we in india
have divided
into fragments
of the human soul
every part
but never whole
a mochi
a chamar
a mehtar
so on
so forth
made the soul
of our ethos
a pathetic hell hole
regionalism '
running amok
beyond control
our human values
our respect for
the demarginalized
the underprivileged
all down the manhole
tears drops on the
heart of our tiranga
on the flagpole

Why God Did Not Create the Hijras?

God made the Earth, Nature, Man Woman than God rested, now Man pretending to be an image of God was not too happy and being genetically politically inclined ..with the theory of Divide and Rule created the Hijra from his own Rib. with due apologies to the the story of our biblical creation.

The Hijra is neither Man nor Woman..Neither this nor that.. a line running parallel better sorrow and despair.

My father in law hates Hijras , I dont blame him, one of his relatives aspiring to be a Bollywood star , was in Mumbai a stunner ,great looks failed to make it in the Industry..he returned depressed was accosted bya Hijra began living with her, the hijras was over possessive..the good lookers family tried hard to get him out of the clutch of the hijra, but all moves were futile ..Hijra would not let go of her lover..I only know one thing , when the lover too wanted a release from this androgynous love trap, the HIjra had him killed.. there was no proof or evidence , in the police records I am told the case was closed ..the hijra moves around the streets of Uttar Pradesh.

Now this might be an individual stray case , but Hijras are human possess all the frailties of Man...his wickedness his lust his dreams hopes and aspirations.

I have a picture posted of a hijra with a poem and an article on Tantric sex of the Hijra that has crossed over 127,461 views at is part of what is called Interestingness of my Flickr photo stream.
Because I dont have a highlight tool, never needed one I dont post most of my borrowed thoughts here at Now I will add the Flickr link.

Hijras are very ugly or very beautiful.. they are uglier than man and more beautiful than Cleopatra..this is my opinion..I brag but dont exaggerate..I have pictures to prove the validity of my mindless thought..

I have never lived among Hijras just gathered by observing them through my inborn Sufi hindsight.. over 8000 pictures in about 5 years..but no coffee table book .. hijra poetry and their story their pain as seen on the viewfinder of my soul.

I have never been to the Eunuch festival at Koovagam Tmil Nadu the only festival that does not happen, .I dont stalk Hijras I wait for them and they fall into my laps.. metaphorically..

My wife understand my love for the Hijras and their community..but as a woman she thinks I should make money like other photographers who learnt under me and make almost Rs 10000 an assignment..that is her pain.

I dont sell my words , my pictures, I share pictures , my world was Flickr till I accidentally stepped on a news mine called Now Public..

Thank you Fred good archangel in a photo blog.

Barring a bit of a uploading problem here I am at Now Public most of the time tailoring shop is a minute away from the addictive computer at my house..

Today I will complete 73000 photo blogs at Flickr in 23 months .pictures private and public.

I thank all of you here who showed me an additional path to Nirvana of my human soul that was earlier embedded in a photo blog.

And those that touched me in more ways than one..I humbly accept your blessings in gratitude.

A poem as tribute to my hijda Guru

Laxmi Narayan Tripathi

my hijda guru
hijda icon
sitting all alone
where those
days have gone
the fading moonlight
kissing the feet of dawn
neither man nor woman
from a drop of a tear
a hijda was born
treated like a leper
looked down with scorn
from the seed of serenity
laxmi narayan tripathi
lisping lyrics
on the lips of a swan

dedicated to my guru..

The Messenger of Failed Love

121,892 items / 832,890 views

photo courtesy
jean marc gargantiel

here i am
like a barren tree
outside her house
withered hopes
fruitless branches
bent kowtowed
i am alone
a thought
in a crowd
i bang my head
against her door
i call out her name
head bowed
she is arrogant
full of conceit
vane and proud
she loves a man
more heavenly
i have deleted her
from my fucked
she wont be cowed
with the gift
of her touch
she can bring
me to life
from my shroud
but than outside her
door reads a plaque
dogs and dead indians
not allowed

Sochte Sochte

121,892 items / 832,890 views

photo courtesy
jean marc gargantiel

sochte sochte
ham ek soch bankar
reh gaye
hamare arman
bhuli bisri yadein
kagaz ki nav
ki tarah
gumrah hokar
main beh gaye
ham akele the
baton baton
main kya kya keh gaye
unka hath thama
phir akele reh gaye

I am more comfortable penning my thought in English the language of inveterate dreamers but sometimes I give it a try in my own way of expressiveness ...

In The Beginning Was The Word

121,892 items / 832,890 views

photo courtesy
jean marc gargantiel

I stay at Bandra and this is the ugliest part of a fishing waterfront called Chimbai that it connects at one end to Salman Khans house and the other end to Joggers Park hardly matters to my pedestrian tale posturing as a blog.

Many years when we were searching for an independent home we were shown a place over 900 sq feet , cheap and within our budget 25 years back, but there was a hitch, it was a shed that had been demolished made into a building , we decided not to take it up and bought a place in another fishing village Danda.

I bought Jean Marc here as I really did not know where to take him , and from here I took him to Juhu , Mr Ashok Tyagi Oshos office and back to Bandra.

Actually I go blank trying to write a poem on Jean Marcs pictures they are better as pictures than the poems I will add .And this I say with sincerity , I have been at home all day updating my set on Street Photography at Flickr and linking them at Facebook with new poems I wrote I have lost track the number of poems I wrote today.

Words is the only God given wealth I have , simple words , no bombast , no pompous words in the dictionary of my mind, I shoot pictures with my eyes shut , I can poetize pictures with my eyes shut too.

I walk barefeet but in and around Bandra and dangerous places like Chimbai also Behrampada I wear slippers , as you dont know what lurks here in this mound of despair, and I am a diabetic with a diminishing eyesight I close my eyes shooting pictureS to be able to shoot darkness when my time arrives.

Jean Marc has in a way shot my despair and the sadness of my life , and positively I think all the shit lying on the beach , could be the state of my mind littered with words..I dont need to search for them , they are wanting to get out of my fragmented genius of a brain.. perhaps as pedestrian as the flesh on my feet.

my tired feet
lies the pain
of centuries
my past
my present
my future
lies buried
a hope
in an unsprouted
seed giving
birth to a
whispering weed
why words dont flow
out when my head bleeds
a positive spam
my face book feeds
unpoetic wants poetic needs
a picture is a poem a poem
is a picture
not as a photographer
but as a poet you
learn to read than
the imagery captive
in a picture
with your vision
you have freed

to jean marc gargantiel
holistically through
his pictures
my soul he heals

finally to pompous pedantic photographers their souls embedded in a camera club ..who keep on harping about having a vision to shoot pictures , a tip.. you need vision to see a picture too...after you have shot it.. ha ha

Private European School Colaba

I studied here in 1955 this was an elitist primary school run by Mrs E Lester , her sisters Miss Marjorie, and Miss June..

The only person from this school I spoke to a few years back was Goverdhan Dhoot who studied with me , he is a relative of my photo guru Mr KG Maheshwari.

I remember a few the Kuruvilla sisters Priya and Laila, The Ghouse brothers from Dhanashtra, Sheba Eapens , Roy Daniels, Indira Khare , Madhu Sudhir Geeta Ruia...
Tanaz Nanavati and Jimmy Nanavati..

This school was part of the Baptist Church opposite Usha Sadan..near 5 Number post office .

I was enrolled in this school by Akthar Kashmiri daughter of late Nawab Kashmiri.

a future of a smile

seeing me
in the cab
she said
uncle wait
a while
i saw a bright
in her smile
with my dark
her bright thoughts
i wont revile
a cosmic poet
who manufactures
part of his
pedestrian profile
unique hairstyle
a computer
a sedentary
tailor made
in textile
a bit senile
not servile
a street
of pain
he complies
your monitor
miles and miles
he has deleted
her from
his fucked
she gate crashes
into his heart
his woman
goddess nubile
she left
him for another man
who was heavenly
more virile
more penile
a cosmic poet
from his city of birth
living in mumbai
in exile
his pictures
truthfully tactile
excuse the break
he will be back
in a little while

Hamara Kal Aj Se Accha Hoga

rahul gandhiji
ke rashtra pati
ban jane par
raste pe bheek
mangna nahi hoga
hamara kal
aj se achha hoga
buddhe neta
golden hand shake
desh ka fayda hoga
chor kotwal
ki soch main
izafa hoga
na ghus
khane wala
daroga hoga

Raste Pe Tehelka

khabre bechne zaroori hai
papi pet majboori hai
mere khali pet par
bhook ki churi hai
teri soch
meri soch main
zamane bhar ki
duri hai

Scales of Injustice

sleeps dreams
wakes up screams
crushed beneath
lives wooden beams
raped by a system
his fucked soul
he cant redeem
his fate he curses
god above
he blasphemes
injustice with injustice
he takes a path extreme

Is Desh Main Rehna Hoga Vande Matram Kehna Hoga

I have no issue reciting Vande Matram I recited the Our Father and the Angelus I am still a good Muslim and a good Indian too.. but greater than merely reciting words that are used as propaganda by rightist patrties I believe the greatest supreme sacrifice is dying for the nation in time of need.. even a parrot can recite words better than a Muslim man.. this is my personal view.

And I found no mans faith can be blown away by another persons influence ,but mutual coexistence , tolerance are the staple diet of Indians a peace loving race.

And I shot this arti at Ramesh Gruds house in Bandra I shoot it ever year and whatever views of the Bajrang Dal, I think as a Muslim I have showcased the true meaning of my cultural inheritance as Hope and Hindutva a Message of Universal Peace.

Whatever my religiosity it is my private pact with my God.

But I am an Indian and proud of my birthright.

Survival on a Mean Street

light and shade
will soon go away
darkness the soul
of light is
on its way
the child looks
into the future
hope is homeless
it too has no place
to stay

Under The Palm Tree

lies a human speck
a piece of shit
the scourge
of humanity
who is the cause
of the loss
of the center
of gravity
let him sleep
dont wake him up
he might get angry

An Island Without Hope

going going
tyre marks
on a downward slope
crushed by a car called destiny
was death marked on their horoscope
in another part of the world '
cassock rape went on
peacefully slept the pope
he knew it but let it happen
shut eyes myope
religious rape the worst
nightmare on a tightrope

Doomed Dire Straits

no there is no bed
for his gangrenous state
on the pavement
for his turn he waits
outside the bhabha
hospital gates
when the guy dies
the bed of thorns
he will vacate
if the guy
now sleeping
outside dies too
than his carcass
too they will cremate
his fucked body parts
they might sell
in the black market
the left overs
they will donate
this is humanity
among human
like a body
of an animal
if it hurts
than as pain
it relates