Saturday, May 8, 2010

Going Going Gone- Death of the Gaothan

all these old edifices and monuments
of heritage will one day be gone
instead of the east indian ethos
of the gaothan
new towers will be born
heralding a new dawn
the politician builder mafia
a nexus reborn
a past that the old residents
of banda bazar road mourn
their lives tattered and torn
hopes all outworn
a gloom their faces adorn

The Olde Shoe Shoppe on Bandra Hill Road

Production houses sell of most of the footwear here at his shop once the film is over and done with,..and so this second hand shoe seller next to the Tata Agiary on Bandra Hill road is as famous as Dedh Gully near Kamatipura where you get all stolen shoes branded ones too.

So Little horny babes who dance and live off studs at the nearby pub buy their stuff from this guy..Salmn Khan clones too buy all their Jhintak shoes and boots from our guy on Bandra Hill Road ..Value for Money.

I have known him for almost 25 years and he and wife and daughter sit and sell in this cramped and shoe clustered surroundings the entrance of Chinchpokli Road off Hill Rad.

Marziya my grand daughter loves the warmth ambiance of this place.

Bollywoods strugglers , guys who get their first BPO job buy their shoes here formal and casual.

He has the best collections and repairs them himself.

He eyes me with disbelief when he sees me walking barefeet across his shop.. thinks I am sane but slightly mad.

The Flower Seller Girl

paper flowers
both found
in plenty
on the street
used abused
under the feet
or sometimes
they wither away
in the humidity
dust and heat
a cycle of life
half born dreams
bitter and sweet

their souls too small
for a winding sheet

A Shot in the Dark

Poem to Kelly Daugherty

Kelly Daugherty
"divine love is never bad ,for it does not know what it is to be so"

Says the Cosmic Poet
divine love has lost its shine

its become water first it was wine

love now the domain of swines

Kelly Daugherty
not in my soul, sweets. It still is alive!

Kelly Daugherty
and if it is in me, it is in all.

Kelly Daugherty
it is the sweetest, warm, engaging bliss which starts in the heart and rises up through the top of the head.

Kelly Daugherty
I know what we are. No one can tell me different.

Says the Cosmic Poet

it is hate
that the world of love
lovers walking
on death mines ...
language of silence
emoting through signs
pain misery on parallel lines
as fate sits in a corner
wheezes and whines
burnt wasteland
purple haze acid rain
weeping skylines
domed coastlines
a world of love
a rape victim
called Peace

Fucked In His Sleep

mounting debts
as they lustfully leap
prices sky rocketing steep
the common man
by a fucked system
fucked dry in his sleep
at home his wife
his children weep
growing like stumps
on a garbage heap
even death does
not come cheap
the poor mans god
is also asleep
swindled of his
by man
promises he made
he cannot keep

Unhappy Mothers Day

125,210 items / 890,676 views

unhappy mothers day
is very different from
the western pimped
up thought on mothers day
unhappy mothers day
the muslism beggar woman
celebrates every day
a slap on the face of
muslim somnolent society
in every way
where she went wrong
i did not ask her
i cannot say
her fate brings her
to my doorstep
every thursday
her doomed destiny
begging for alms
a few coins they pay
hurriedly hurry away
they have to go
to the mosque to pray
head bowed at
gods gateway
as the plants
whither and decay
on gods doorway
yes a poets
as a photographer
captured as word play
welcome to the streets
of doomsday
as i introduce
you to unhappy mother
unhappy child
lifes story
without screenplay
cinematic choreographed
moments on
Mumbai's Broadway

Is It Necessary To Write a Poem For Every Picture I Shoot

125,209 items / 890,660 views

a thought
you can conveniently refute
if you read this picture as a poem
even if you are dumb blind or mute
motherhood the essence of humanity
begs on the route is not the money
you give them but their
pain that you loot
sitting in the comforts of your
new madrassas your new mosques
the ethos of a poor mans
survival you pollute
only making money
promoting sectarian strive
dividing one
muslim from another
your satanic pursuit
sometimes its not the camera
but a beggar woman and her child
my disillusioned soul shoots
eunuch collective silence
pays its final tribute

You Got To Be a Poet To Shoot What I Shoot

125,208 items / 890,655 views

if you start with
a premise
that you are going
to shoot pictures
than you are off target
a thought to pollute
hot shot photographer
the soul of humanity
you cannot loot
you got to be a poet
to shoot what i shoot
humility the essence
of your pictorial pursuit
pain on the streets
is what touches
ones roots
your pictures
have to be felt
by the soul
of the viewer
before they bear fruit
uploading sorrow
as you compute
muslim beggar women
a speck of survival
i photograph and salute
on mother days
every day
my solemn tribute
i see what i shoot
i dont change
my route

Walking Into The Soul of a Slum

Darkness is a language only the blind can read, but sometimes it is badly misread by the wide eyed too..this is the path that connects despair to hope.. light at the end of a fucked tunnel.

Of late I have been terribly down and disturbed with the vagaries of my personal life so I stopped walking through the slums since a week.

Now I walk the outer road to my workspace.. I carry my camera , the camera on my person is like embedded poetry wings they keep me off the ground most of the time.

Kids on the outer road too want their pictures they keep following me like the Piped Piper of Bandra Bazar Road.

Things that have to be shot will be shot , there are things that I see I would like to shoot I deliberately dont shoot them..I know they will be there the next time too, I defy pictorial destiny..and if you live in a urban jungle shoot pain there is no solace of a mountain or a lazy stream or a brook..

But yes you keep your landscapes your wildlife I am completely at ease shooting the dregs of society.I shoot the same thing over and over again yes some pictures are like favorite tunes they never fade away.

Last evening near the Parsi Fire temple Tata Agiary , I met Informer Bhai the crippled beggar of my New Don story, I told him he should be careful while crossing the road but he gave me a smile .,.that said fuck I am already dead when I crossed the road of the womb to be crushed by life forever.

Next to him sat another beggar I dont like to shoot with a diseased leg that has elephantiasis , he kept trying to placate my soul to take a shot I refused.

To shoot pictures you need a sane frame of mind , but sometimes insanity of a seconds thought can get you good pictures its like writing poems on an empty stomach.. and to understand my inner struggle you would have to read New Grub Street by George Gissing .. I read many tears back and he distempered my soul s poetry for life.

Some of the books you read make you relive every chapter of your the camera is an extension of my psyche , it is a powerful tool,,, it poetizes moments on the street , there are Facebook friends , kids actually that chat and want to emulate my style they say..and I repeatedly tell them be original be yourself..what I shoot is nothing special but it is special because it makes me see the depth of misery of another mans life..

But than photography for some is a shortcut to money glory and fame , I am a beggar with a camera I beg and shoot ..I dont begrudge the fashion guy or the media guy .. but yes I am totally disgusted with the salon type or the camera club type , who have destroyed the soul of a photographer, pretty pictures are not the real story of life..there is a bitter path too they ignore, a few years back if you asked them who is a blogger they would be scratching their heads clueless.

Photography at club level is shamelessly posting your pictures to win acclaim awards and nothing but flatulent conceit.. you have the fucking balls come and teach photography to the kids in the slum .. show them a life away from their own.

But than it is always Blah Blah..I was a camera club member I may have had a short shelf life but I have moved away a million light years from their gissa pita attitude towrds photography , that is why they wont ever call me to speak on a dais..the only thing that hurts is a dysfunctional tragedy even as a photographer..

I will stop now .. this is a blog with no holds barred .. so now you know why I stopped walking through the slums ..

I Shot Bandra's Most Famous Beggar

Colored Hands That Will One Day Rock The Cradle

a girls hands
holds the future
of our race
she will
one day
be a wife
a mother
her heritage
a dream
she wont
have to
from one
of life
to another
a short
she who
the destiny
of an unborn child
foundation and base
her own destiny
at the mercy
of a force
she will
for the suitable
person who
will be a part
of her lifes race
she solemnly
being a muslim girl child
at the mercy
of male dominated
mullahcentric society
its walking
a tight rope of danger
both ways
the jehad
to destroy
her womanhood
through bigotry
is a thought
common place
everywhere always
talaq talaq talaq
3 words of pain
that resound
like the call
of the muezzin
from outer space

The Long Tie Beggar of Bandra

125,200 items / 890,354 views

nowhere in india
you will ever find
a long tie beggar
of bandra
one of his kind
well versed
polished english
at the traffic signal
he loves to unwind
demystified destiny
fate has designed

God Reflected in a Drop of Tear

125,199 items / 890,315 views

when a child cries
a tear drop falls
its god reflecting light
from a child's eye balls
his own childhood
the poet recalls
on the soul of humanity
it is humility that
saves you
from pitfalls
arrogance conceit
that make you small
being small
is what makes you tall
as you breach
every prison wall
memories your
soul recalls

Its Tough Being a Muslim Beggar Child

125,198 items / 890,284 views

She and her mother come to my workspace every Thursday, I give them money and take a few pictures , the little one like being photographed..through my picture she gets to see the world free .Whats her future , well future is shy state of ones mind , it has hidden beneath the next toadstool..

She likes me and stands outside the doors of my shop , she knows I am the only guy who takes her picture and through my picture I give her respect, respect for being so small and taking up a selfless job of begging assisting her mother diligently.

And I meet them , or beggars like them , they meet me on the crossroads of the path of my camera.,,they are my subjects I shoot their life on the streets in available light , and I show you what others are too shy to show..that pain is universal, beyond the scathing realm of religiosity.

A normal beggar does not evoke such feelings like the Muslim women beggar and her child..I dont sell my pictures so you cant accuse me of profiteering through pain..

And for once just look deep in to the beggar childs eye ..and hold your vision , you will see my culture , you will see bombs demolished mosques , you will see suicide bombers you will see not one but a million Kasab..and within her eyes you will see sectarian strife, you will see collective eunuch silence you will see the clergy with a mouth gagged ,.. you will see so much and much more provided you see as I do..and you dont need a camera too..

So this is what I saw and I share it with you ..yes a child's eyes are windows of Gods soul too..

Its tough being a Muslim beggar child and carrying the heritage of pain for over 1400 years..

Recycled Pain Nobody Buys

125,193 items / 890,051 views

I was bringing Aditya Raj Kapoor son of Mr Shammi Kapoor Saab to my house I wanted Marziya to meet him , Marziya is my two year old grand daughter who has touched a few stars like Salman Khan and Mr Rajesh Khanna.. and Marziya loves all twinkling stars ..should suffice at this stage ..

I saw this man while seated in Adityas car , so the moment we approached my home I dragged him with me and shot two frames ..

This is life on the streets of pain and this poem is for Mr Shammi Kapoor Saab whose fan I am and never missed his films when I was young..

on an island of despair
nonchalant a nobody
on the streets of pain
he lies recycled pain
nobody wants to buy
simply because
you get it free
in great supply
veiled in a tear
or a sigh
broken wings
that were never
to fly
if on earth
pain remorse
born to die
of what use
in heaven
up above
in the sky
rights of admission
the poor the needy
the down trodden
says the board
access denied
heaven and hell
a split open wide
man and god
god and man
lies a great divide

I Shoot Happiness Overflowing a Girls Hands

125,192 items / 889,980 views

apne hathon ki lakiron
ko chupaya hai mehndi se
apni kismet ki lakiron
ko sajaya hai mehndi se
pyar aur mohabaat
ka rang basaya hai
mehndi se

I shot this on my way home and it belongs to a young slum child, she had decorated her hands with henna or mehndi , as she was going for a friends wedding,.

And I shot this hurriedly not realizing the shadow play at that time and it says so much , and I could write this as an English poem , but I would not be happy translating her moment of happiness , it would be another few years before she gets married..her legs in the picture add to the story of life's poetry..

Falling In Love With The Wrong Woman

125,191 items / 889,871 views

the knock out punch
came out of the blue
it was the hard kick
on my family jewels
bruised black and blued
although i have deleted
you from my fucked
i still cant get over you
falling in love
with the wrong woman
i was fucked and screwed
i saw her in the
mirror of my mind
totally nude
aesthetic poetic
sensual her form
over and over
i viewed
being short
i did not realize
the woman
i loved was
a transvestite
to delude
a woman
i had wooed
she had
in love
blind folded
a seminal
love online
bad food

i swear never
to fall i n love
fucked dude

a transvestites tale
i wont conclude

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