Tuesday, May 11, 2010
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Marziya has school holidays but every morning after a shower and change of dress she hangs her school bag on her shoulders ..ready to go to school.
This is Marziyas love for knowledge and thirst for education,. her books her drawing and her poetry recital her life's teacher for poems is You Tube.
She loves animals , nowadays it is a stray cat that comes to our doorstep..
Marziya most of the time thinks like a boy, she strips to her waist and does Matam the Shia ritual of beating the chest in memory of Imam Hussain martyred grandson of the Holy Prophet of Islam.
While shooting Marziya there is no composition or nicety of background...her dads shirt is lying in the frame .Marziya is impulsive and for a two year child who knows photography she hates being photographed.
Initially she was cool with me shooting her pictures now no more , I can only shoot her if she obliges.
Sometimes I defy her attitude and shot her despite her restrictions on me ..but there are times I dont shoot her at all.
Marziya wont leave the house without her head scarf or the hijab..her mother her grand mother her aunt wear a hijab too,,, so it is part of her ethos and ethnicity.
And if I learn to shoot videos or buy a video camera when I can afford it , it will be only to capture the myriad moods of Marziya Shakir my grand daughter.
125,324 items / 894,007 views
from across the border
she sent me some good news
her ailment of her deep throat
due to phallic abuse had subdued
she had got a new set of rubber boobs
she was ready for me renewed
she wanted me to make up
end unending poetic feud
she sent me 3D photo
lying on a water bed all nude
she told me to go easy
on my punishing attitude
stop being nasty and crude
she was thirsty her throat parched
she was dying for some fluid
she coaxed and cajoled this dude
on her new heaving rubber boobs
she had my name tattooed
she cursed the loneliness
the fact that she was
dying to be screwed
she who is an appetizer
succulent when chewed
the transvestites tale
her foot fetish
my poetic angst
my seminal soliloquy
avidly as my blogs
sitting on the toilet seat
a lap top in her lap
my world on facebook
word press she views
my own sense imbues
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between her house
and my house
is only a ladder away
of the mind once
together we stayed
of light and shade
what we shared
began to fade
a barefeet blogger
walking on the edge
of a razor blade
falling in love
a figment of his mind
but surreal finely
made as poetic
trance to trade
one wrong move
he got fucked
in his sleep
she tied his balls
to a hand grenade
her love she thus conveyed
although i have deleted her
from my fucked consciousness
my doomed destiny
i could not evade
holding on to the rubber tits
of a transvestite milkmaid
125,322 items / 894,004 views
Marziya talks in the third person..
her conversational zeal
Whatever she says
she adds Marziya to her childish spiel
she touches us every time she is our ideal
our life with her love she has holistically healed
a new facet of her mood she unpeels
a layer beneath a layer she reveals
we are all spokes of her karmic wheel
125,321 items / 893,999 views
like an old oak
the pain of living
what she could
begging on the streets
from her earliest childhood
a tortured womanhood
life was never good
on a river of pain
floating like driftwood
arthritis attacked her soul
valiantly she stood
her humped back
in a world
in a world of
125,320 items / 893,872 views
she was a hot passionate bitch
love trapping them into
she would let them in
after a hot steamy love session
she would chop of their heads
as trophies hang them on a pin
their hot and furry bodies
of all he lovers she skinned
i was lucky i escaped alive
as i was a wolf in a sheepskin
i drugged her before she drugged me
ran away from the inn
the butcher did not do much harm
he only chopped of my foreskin
a broken bottle a missing djinn
love a an encounter you cannot win
fucked from out and within
125,319 items / 893,845 views
He is connected to the caterers of Bandra at Bazar Road.
He allows me to shoot him simply because I have shot him before a long series of his having a shave at the local street side barber , and the guy who shave him is barely 12 or 13 year barber ..
He is a Sunni Muslim and the Sunni Muslims of Bandra are a very peace loving tolerant community.
If he was a Wahhabi I would have not shot his picture anyway.
If he was a Wahabbi he would not allow me to shoot his picture anyway.
And I shoot people like him people who live with hope in the city of Mumbai and all these guys are from UP .. come to make a living in our home state Maharashtra.
The caterers of Bandra are mostly UP migrants and from a common village and some are related to each other .
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Muslims all over the world are not the same , religiosity wise they follow the same tenets and I speak of a universal Islam without sectarian strife...but economically there is difference of heaven and earth between the poor Muslim and the rich Muslim.
Who is a rich Muslim.
The rich Muslim is the affluent soul who sacrifices camels , dumbas goats not one but many at a a great price ,he is mentioned in the Urdu papers too for Bakra Idd.
He shops for a dozen or more making the compound of a cosmopolitan housing society into a war zone with blood and gore.
We cut our goats at the butchers and bring home the meat many others do too.
The poor Muslim like the one you see in my picture dont celebrate Idd at all, they beg from the rich this is the truth and my pictures shot of Idd Namaz at Bandra Railway Station dont lie.
There is a great divide between the rich Muslim and the poor Muslim , the poor Muslim once lived in a ghetto but now it has been taken away from him under one scheme or another.
I shoot Muslim beggars , I shoot them to awaken the somnolent soul of Muslim laid back society.
Poverty and the poor cant go by the swish of a wand ..understandable.
My mentor Dr Glenn Losack tells me I should sit down at eye level and shoot the beggar but I cant do it , I am a diabetic and my joints pain when I sit down , I have a diminishing eyesight , but I am not complaining I am able to shoot pictures ..because my pictures speak truth because my picture are shot in humility you see them as they are..
Yes simplicity is the essence of street photography, fast reflexes and speed.
Snatching fleeting moments from the jaws of speeding time is a tough task mind you.
So here I shot the surrender of a little child , a surrender to fate almost like the sacrificial lamb at Bakra Idd..the goat cant escape his death he has to appease the soul of man and this child will appease the soul of a sleeping Muslim society..
Honestly who really cares a flying fuck for Muslim beggar not the Muslim Man at least he is safely ensconced head bowed in prayer in the nearby House of God...
125,317 items / 893,761 views
I shoot Muslim beggars , I am a Muslim beggar myself.He begs for a few coins I beg for peace and a tranquility of mind and soul.
I have been going through a very bad phase and a stressful life a phase that does not seem to end ..maybe to forget my own misery I shoot other peoples miserable lives .
This was the first time he came to my workplace and I could not find my wallet and my staff was not around, he kept talking about his misfortunes and he was not a professional beggar he had certainly seen good times too..
I found my wallet I gave him some money and told him I wanted to take his picture to tell others the story of his pain , he stood there I took a few shots.
Whatever his pain he had a glimmer of a smile on his face , a smile of hope..I did not ask his name yes he is a Muslim beggar reflecting my own beggarly state in his eyes.
He kept blessing me and invoking Allah to show his kindness for having given him alms.
Two things stand out Humility and Gratitude.
After he left I found both waving out to him..
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we met by fluke
a mere suggestion
of the web master
on a social networking site
i was blackish brown
she was wheatish white
such was the power
of cybernetic love
we fucked all night
my body bloodied
red with her love bites
our love poetic
into her ears
held me tight
till one day
due to a
we both had
a great fight
it turned out
my lover was
had first made love
due to power failure
a solitary candle light
she had blind folded me
alright ..her bare feet
stockings skin tight
worse than a snakebite
but when i realized
i had been conned
i almost died of fright
besides the solitary candle
lighting the darkness
she had a 7 inch
the transvestites tale
the other side of the border
the other side of midnight
an accidental cockfight
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i will not hold anything against you
my existence as a positive spam
poetry blogger you overlook
or if you flush me in a ladies toilet
a piece of shit you mistook
but please please dont tag
me on facebook dont
let me of the hook
a poet whose mind
is a wordbook
blogging on the blank pages
of a checkbook
a sartorial soliloquy
bad assed barefeet outlook
with facebook notifications
my sepia tinted soul
my multicolored ass shook
flickr this bloggers
only coffee table book
125,314 items / 893,686 views
I have done nothing to this picture I assisted her hold on the camera but she hit the trigger herself..nor have I tweaked the picture ..Marziya has shot the blithe soul of her grand father and demystified it too.
125,313 items / 893,650 views
Demystifying a 2 Year Old Child ...Marziya Shakir my grand daughter.
I showed her this picture and asked her who this is she answered back Marziya Shakir ..than I asked her who shot this photo she replied Dada ..meaning me.
Than giving me a smile she said please play Ya Hussain Ya Hussain she strips to her waist and beats her chest to Ali Rizvi Sachays Noha..Run Main Hai Nala Kuna
Marziya is the future of my photography , she sees a world of pictures at an early age I began shooting 10 years back..and I am still learning .
I am learning from the new kids on the block like Nitin Sharma from Lucknow ..and a galaxy of photographers I added as friends on Facebook thanks to Roland W Luthi and Michel Portier.
Michel has contributed to my angst I am indebted to his friendship.
Marziya is an impulsive photographer like me , she hates being photographed and I dont blame her she has been my favorite model with over 9889 or more pictures from the second day she was born.
But if I give her my Nikon D 80 first she will place the strap around her neck than lift the camera to eye level, a very tough task I assist her and than she shoots the trigger , than she will search for it on the monitor..so she knows the camera .
I did not know the camera when I was two year old.
I wish I could shoot her shooting me ..but for the moment this is enough.
Wife does not much care for photography so two photographers in the house would be hell for her.
Than I get fucked totally when somebody asks me what camera do I use or what lens do I use..
I use my mind more than my camera .. my camera is just a means to getting the image that I first shot in my head.
And I am not teaching Marziya to become a photographer am only strengthening her bond with life through a tiny keyhole ..a viewfinder that reaches the mysteries of the human soul.
I dont want to boast about my talented grand daughter either..I never took such pains with my own daughter at all, those year I was drunk to the gills.
So I have skipped the poem here , I just wanted get over my thoughts bring them out in the open so to speak.
I have not forced photography on Mariziya she has inherited it from me as gift of her birthright.
I could place my camera on a tripod and make Marziya a shooting photographer in no time but I want her to feel the weight of the body of a camera ...let it slip from her hands fall on the bed but she is smart she will not hold the camera without placing the strap around her neck.
And as the heat is real bad in Mumbai, I have stopped taking her out completely she goes to the garden with her mother in the evenings.
I shower thrice a day change my top thrice over.. and I just cant bear this years heat even after having lived in Mumbai since I was a year old.
I will also post Marziya pictures shot of me..
To Dr Pankaj Sharma , Roland W Luthi and Michel Portier.. dedicated to Nitin Sharma a who holds a great future in Photography.
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