Tuesday, July 27, 2010

Wiladat e Imam e Zamana

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I shot this series in 2007, the first time I shot this event from Moghul Masjid to the Rehmatabad Shiia cemetery and finally the tasting of the nazar on a boat called Bajra which docks at Gatway of India in the wee hours of the morning , awaiting the decked up floral boat are the Shias of Mumbai the men women and children who gather here and drop arzis or requests , written on a paper and covered with flour thrown into the sea for the fishes .

I was bought up in Colaba and though my parents house was at Strand Cinema it was the first time I shot this 2007 and those days being new to Flickr I resized my pictures .

This is a great pictorial moment with a lot of boisterous crowds shouting Nare Hyderi and there are kids reciting Mushaira in praise of the Imam on the Gateway pier.

Wiladat e Imame e Zamana is the birth of the Twelth Shia Imam in occultation..followed by the Twelvers of the Shia Isnashari sct.

Some titles of the 12th Imam include: Sahib az Zaman (Master of the Age), Sahib al Amr (Master of Command), al Qa'im (the one to arise), Bagiyyat Allah (remnant of Allah) and Imam al Muntazar (the awaited Imam).

The Twelfth Imam Hazrat Muhammad al-Mahdi (AS)


1. Introduction
2. Birth
3. Miscellaneous Information on Imam Mehdi (AS)
4. Sunni Documentation on Imam Mehdi (AS)
5. Special Specifications of Imam Mehdi (AS)


First Heavenly concealment: 8th of Rabi-ul-Awwal, 260 A.H.
Final Heavenly concealment: 10th of Shawwal, 328 A.H.

There existed a good deal of harmony and uniformity between the aspects pertaining to the births of Prophet Muhammad, the last Apostle of Allah and Imam Mehdi, the last Apostolical Imam. Just as the coming of the Holy Prophet was prophesised well in advance by the preceeding Prophets similarly the impending news of the gracious birth of Imam al-Mehdi was foretold by the Holy Prophet.

Innumerable traditions in this context, quoted right from The Holy Prophet from the glowing contents of many books of Masanid, Sehan, and Akhbar and of Shia Scholars existed. Many Sunni scholars have accumulated these traditions in complete volumes also.


He was born on the 15th Shaban 255 A.H. in the city of Samarra. The momenton us and singluar aspects of his birth greatly resembled those under which the Prophet Musa was born. The birth of Hazart Musa had signalled the downfall and extinction of the empire of Pharoah, who had ordered the slaying of all the newly born children of Bani-Israel. The Abbaside kings were similarly apprehnesive of the continuous traditions of the Holy Prophet about the birth of Imam Mehdi, who was to bring about a curse to their (Abbaside) very empire. They were, therfore, laying in ambush to discover the birth of the Imam and to put an end to his life. But the event of the Imam's birth was enveloped and shielded by the same Divine protection and miraculous phenomena which had makred the historical birth of Prophet Musa. His birth remained strictly confidential and his nursery shrouded in secrecy except to a few devotees.

The Imam's birth had coincided with the reign of al-Mutamad, the well-known Abbaside king. He, being aware of the prophecy of the twelfth Imam's birth occuring in his reign, was extremely worried and anxious to trace him out.

But on the death of Imam Hasan Askari, when he was informed about the Imam's funeral prayer having been conducted by his four year old son, his perplexity knew no bounds.

It struck his mind that this very boy must be the Imam, but he managed to hide his inner concern at the news of the existence of the young Imam. In order to get confirmation that the young Imam did in fact exist, he ordered the arrest of the Imam's mother, Janab-e-Nargis Khatoon.

MISC. Information on Imam Mehdi (AS)

In a tradition upon whose authenticity all Muslims agree, the Holy Prophet has said:

"Even if the entire duration of the world's existence has already been
exhausted and only one day is left before Doomsday (Day of judgment),
Allah will expand that day to such a length of time, as to accommodate
the kingdom of a person out of my Ahlul-Bayt who will be called by my
name. He will then fill out the earth with peace and justice as it
will have been full of injustice and tyranny before then."

Sunni Reference: Sahih Tirmidhi, V2, P86, V9, P74-75 (There are many more.)

The context of the above precious tradition informs the golden divine promises will take place, sooner or later, one way or another, as mentioned in most of the Shi'ite and Sunnit sources.

In a tradition the Holy Prophet said to the Commander of believers, Ali, that:

"There will be twelve Guides (Imams) after me, the first of whom is
you, O' Ali, and the last one will be the 'Support' (al-Qa'im), who
with the grace of Allah, will gain victory over the whole east and
west of the world."

The occultation of the twelfth Imam is divided into two parts: the first, the minor occultation (ghaybat al-Sughra) which began in 259/873 and ended in 329/939, lasting about seventy year. On that period, people were in contact with him through four special deputies. That period served as preparing people for the absence of Imam. The second, the major occultation which commenced in 329/939 and will continue as long as God wills it. There is no special deputy in direct contact with him in this period, and Muslim scholars are regular deputies of him at this time without having ability to see him.

Imam Mahdi (AS) said:

"Rest assured that no one has a special relationship with Allah.
Whoever denies me is not from my (community). The appearance of the
Relief (al- Faraj) depends solely upon Allah. Therefore those who
propose a certain time for it are liars. As to the benefit of my
existence in occultation, it is like the benefit of the sun behind the
clouds where the eyes do not see it. Indeed, my existence is an
amnesty for inhabitants of the earth. Pray much to Allah to hasten the
Relief, for therein also lies the release from your sufferings."

Forgiveness Comes From The Human Soul

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This was taken on Ram Navmi day , and the rangoli adorned this street as the Daya Sagar Hanuman Mandir palki was to pass this way..

And it took the guy over 6 hours to make it , once the palki made its way from here it would be destroyed by the crowds who will walk on it..

Rangoli is a very spiritual art akin to tattoo, connecting to the divinity of god..and the message of peace hope and harmony is a very satisfying objective of a rangoli.

Marziyas hands were itching for the color sprinkler and the sculptors always ask me to bring Marziya to the Durga and Ganesh workshops as she loves to paint.

But last night Marziya was in extreme pain crying non stop, so she finally slept at 3 am, we were all awake she will visit her doctor today.

27 July 2010
Marziya is a born artist , and I am updating this today inspired by a Facebook comment

June-Ruth A. Canonico When I can find it, I will send you some photographs I took of the extraordinary mandalas sand painted by Tibetan monks that they take hours to create and then empty into the sea or a river after a period of time for contemplation. this (I think) speaks to the transience of the material world. They came to Mass Institute of Technology Cambridge, Massachusetts to create one. I found this location particular ironic considering...Are you interested in seeing it?

Pain is my subject and genre of photography , elusive pain , pain is the only human emotion that touches us all and I shoot it religiously too as a street photographer.

And I do not believe in any religion that makes man a slavish fool of divinity , man is man and he may or may not be in the image of god .

We Muslims dont use God in any form of visual imagery..and we dont mock other religiosity however corny or insane the belief might be.. and this morning Times of India has given an unconditional apology for hurting the Christians by showing the Last Supper as a common mans cartoon..and they say it is their editorial policy not to hurt , but what about the editorial policy of seeing such things are not posted in the first place is something that beats me completely.

And one of the reasons I am happy being a blogger I am under no editorial policy philosophy I moderate my stuff , I posted a Idd picture 2007 at Bandra Station of a photographer who had abused me but a few days back I changed the title and removed the content .. I re titled it .Its Human to Err To Forgive Divine..

He was a photo journalist making kids hug to get the sweet looking Idd picture that you see splashed in most newspapers I told him politely to come up with something new he did ..He Said Mind your Business Fuck Off..

Getting Marziya hugging the Goat s a more powerful picture for Bakra Idd namaz than any other picture of a kid hugging another kid.
Simply because Marziya loves goats and does not know as yet they are bred to be slaughtered religiously too.

I dont take her out on Bakra Idd at all.

The girl child and the goat have been sacrificial objects goes without saying .. silence of the lamb.

The Silhouette of the Hijab

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her mom
to tell her
all is not
the man they
got her married
to has an
alcoholic breath
he smells
he does not go
to work
for long spells
the children
has removed
from the school
the land lady
is harassing them
the rent unpaid
in the slums
where they dwell
her jewelry
the little bit
she had
she was
forced to sell
she continued
tears i could
feel lashing
her soul
as well
she was
at a call
center now
life was tough
will get better
she said
to herself
woman a
beyond the
expiry date
dying on
dusty shelf
her only cry
for help

This is not her story I hope not but all stories come from human situations and it has been almost 3 months since I stopped walking to my work place through the slums..the poet is an earthen pot that cracks when you over fill it with pain.

I got tired as I saw the shanties the open doors showing remorse and pain within..I was not shooting pictures each picture of pain was shooting me down too.


BE HUMAN, originally uploaded by firoze shakir photographerno1.

135,539 items / 1,036,761 views

they could be standing
at the gate of mosque
they could be begging
outside a church
or a hindu temple
human pain
in a cask
but here under
the rays of
jai jinendra
they bask
blind eyes
of their soul
a painful
they beg
but to see
the world
with your
a gift
you have
they dont ask
one hell of
a tough task

To a Khan
who gives and gives and gives
at Galaxy he lives a super star
the poor mans pain relives
Salman Khan he is

A Blog Cries Out

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This lady has gone back to her native place in Andhra she visited my work place every Thursday I normally try not encourage beggars and I read pain as your read light when you shoot a picture through your camera , this inbuilt meter is what allows me the discretion to shoot what I want to shoot too.

Her child will be asleep but she will force her to wake up adding to the sympathy factor..she is a young mother and such is her silent stress she wants you to give her money not for herself or her beggarly state but for her child?

Or is it because of her husband ?

I dont know I shoot pictures I never ask personal questions helps in the log run, why should she narrate her life story to me , she would if I was a woman photographer but I am not..

And as I reiterate time and again who would ever ask her why she has been reduced to life of a beggar.

I am not a social activist I am the light that shows you a path where pain lives pain has no permanent address it is like a bee always on the move.

Earlier when I joined Flickr as a newbie 10 June 2007 took a lot of flak for showing Islam in bad light some called my act of photography a heresy , I hit back with poems than I did one thing one hardly does I choked my Flickr comment box for good.

I like comments I am a good commenter too but I keep my hate my bias to myself..I dont come running to your door to say your religion sucks I just would not be able to do it, so on my Flickr photo stream if you dont find me you are sure to find yourself in the religiosity you believe.

I also shoot with your eyes your devotion when I shoot your faith as passionately as I shoot my own.

So back to the beggar Muslim woman , tell me honestly if she had no pain would she really like to beg from strangers I talk of this Muslim beggar or others I shoot , there maybe a black sheep or two beneath the hijab but who am I too judge.

I must make a serious confession here during my days of drinking I was an alcoholic once upon a time a million light years away,., I came home sloshed wanted to sleep but there was this beggar lady who would scream her lungs out ALLAH and in a continuous breath non stop, her sound her scream drove sleep away I wanted to go outside and shout at her do get the you know what..but I covered myself and went back to sleep.

She tortured me every day of my life and I never saw her once in my life time ..eventually I forgot about her I gave up boozing for good and I thanked this screaming lady who embedded Allah on my alcoholic stupor those days thereby holistically curing me, for the healing I thank my own family.

So Allah works in strange ways , I am going through very hard time and within my anguish within
the cry of my soul I shout ALLAH more times than her.

And I am stuck in the wrestling hold of fate there is no relief no escape the blog gives me momentarily relief it cauterizes my wounds through the wounds of others I shot and share.

I dream poems may sound strange and it is dreams that I relive through words.. words in the soul of images I shoot.

And as I said earlier if I stop shooting pictures I could by just updating an old Flikr post add a new lease to life..like I have done here..

Sometimes I am sick and tired of shooting pictures the same story revisited everyday , but photography is what heals me and perhaps heals you too.

I am a chronicler I received a friend request at Flickr a very nice one but I shall block her nevertheless simply because I am sick and tired of adding cross dressers transgenders who over impose their sexuality their fetish on me by having me on their contact list as their poster boy..I am not interested ..

I copy her message sent to me..


Firozji, i feel like as if i am reborn today. yes ji i find it difficult to type this mail as my vision is blurred by tears. reason....? i saw the pictures captured by your soul... and i am still crying.. life..with its mysterious colours... men and women with their joys and pains...unknown things in the known world of ours... oh my God you made me see life in an an absolutely new angle and made me to feel that iam born again today. can i be included in your list of contacts...iam afraid of using the word fiends... I will stand at a corner and watch you in awe. just allow me that.

My reply I just wrote to her before I block him/her for good.

I am sorry I cant add you nothing personal its just that I am off all it
I am sick and tired of seeing porn semi porn pictures perhaps NOT on your stream but in the stream of your friendS I have a daughter a grand daughter should be enough as an excuse .

I will be blocking you to remove you as a one side contact ,
Take care
Nothing personal.

At Facebook I will not add people without mutual contact, incomplete profile and without a message to me before adding me I deserve that as I have my family stuff and cant add somebody I am not compatible with..

This is a blogger as he cries out life is nothing
but a wrestling bout when bad days finally go
good times come the lord pulls you out
you have to go no way out
no bribe this one rule you just cant flout
however hard you plead you shout
the grave waits the hole beckons
the wet soil waiting with an open mouth
i never planned this poem but words came out
from the brain of my smithy where poems sprout

to randy der joel my best friend

we sometimes think alike

The Race of Time

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Shot by a fisherman on Murud Beach

every picture
has a story to tell
mans journey
on earth
both heaven and hell
fighting with himself
fighting with nature
his surroundings
a mutiny for bounty
he cannot quell
man is man
a born rebel
hope he buys
despair he sells
lucid eloquent
but words
he cant spell
one for the other
an empty shell
man the
father of
a sperm cell
the beginning
of life
the end as well
he came
he saw
he departed
he was created
in silence
his birth was
a shout
a cry and a yell
to a future
in the soul
of a death bell

I made an ass of myself but it happens to us and there is no cure for it, we deliberately like to be hoodwinked by fate.

I shoot the bullock cart races and on Gudi Padwa I rushed to Murud to shoot the same a very long tiring trip barefeet from Gateway jetty to Alibagh to Murud.

I did not even call my photographer friends taking the event for granted , this was one big wasted bum trip the races were canceled due to a court order.

I was told to go t a nearby village Nandgaon but it was canceled out there too..finally beaten by fate disappointed disillusioned I returned home..

I am updating this blank post today poetically and expanding it as chapter in experience..

The Bawa From Mumbai

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in life
we meet a lot
of people
we dont know
like the showers
of monsoonal mirth
they come
they go
away from
our hearts
ours souls
like a rushing river
into a great
of nothingness
they flow
whats his name
well i did not ask
him i was slow
i did not even wish
him hello
once a picture
he now becomes
a poem
a part
of my pictorial
talk show
the bawa from mumbai
shot by another bawa of mumbai
time has laid low a tailor made
tragedy fate wove he sews

inspired by a facebook comment

Facebook Is Paradise For Those Who Think Marc Zuckerburg is God of Cyberspace

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Facebook Each one of us would like to thank each one of you for making Facebook part of your life.

the only world of peace
love and humanity
beyond caste color or race
add a friend or ignore him
block him report him
as per your prerogative
your mind space
a world within a world
this 2 minute instant
poem making blogger says
facebook is paradise
for those who think
marc zuckerburg
is god of cyberspace
marked by lady luck
to rephrase
he is what he is in any case
he had a dream which
all dreamers chase
hitting the keys to stay alive
if not at at home all night
all hours always
getting up in the middle
of the night
to take a leak
in the toilet
the lustful laptop
re connecting with her
not the one on the bed
but the one who
on facebook stays
her new picture
her new wall posts
he copies and saves
facebook a world
without clock
without night or day
facebook if it shuts down
4 billion people will go mad
set the other world ablaze

Duniya Mein Nahin Jiska Koi Uska Khuda Hai ...

she stands
time stands
the windless
woes of womanhood
no one understands
specially if it is a poor
muslim beggar woman
holding her childs hand
why is she begging on
the streets no one
will ever ask her
just give her a few coins
like empty waves
eroding the soul of sand
forget mumbai street corners
every corner a holy land
supply and demand
a life created in a hurry
uneducated untutored

Shooting Pain Behind a Wail

the silhouette of the hijab
follows me mesmerizing
my camera lens
my pictures
unscripted sorrow
adding to my poems
the poor muslim woman
battered by fate
as i saw her then
in a world where
women are from mars
men are only men
eden could
not have been
a garden
a mouse
clicks its way
like a pen
one finger driven
kicking ass
of the keyboard
like a steam engine
words emanating
from the soul
of the mind
now and then
my brain
a dead poets den

this poem dedicated to benn and glenn


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when we first met
she was in a niqab
i saw her eyes i fell
flat in love with her
i became her pet
our love flourished
on the internet
sweet nothings
fragrant blossoms
i will never forget
them came
the day when
in real life
i decided
to take her out
with abated breath
at the picture hall
popcorn in her hand
she rushed towards
the gents toilet
i was embarrassed
but she said sweetly
i am a transvestite
dont you worry or fret
i decided
once and for all
fuck all platonic
i will never fall
in love on the

the transvestites tale continues with much ado regret think twice before you fall in love with a woman's duplicitous silhouette

The Death of a Street Poet of Pain

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he thinks he is me
never expected
a run
on his luck
mind you he was
a good poet
he wrote
street poems
but to his bad luck
from a high pedestal
he too fell
face in the mud
his fucked fate
he could not duck
his pen silted
the poetry of his life
began to suck
will reach out to him
take him out
but does
care a fuck
man a born
selfish animal
wise foolish
a jerk
each one
a sitting duck
when the
lighting struck
last i heard
he had been
run over by a drunk
in a speeding truck
his poems have been
else is making
the bucks

Unhealing Hands

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my bejeweled hand
was ashamed
by her leprous stump
pain that man carries
on his soul
like a camels hump
conjoined eternity
a potholed path
more and more bumps
the rich man
in this world was born lucky
over the moon he jumps
while the poor soul
lies in the dumps

Marziya my grand daughter has met three unfortunate souls if I call them so one Appu the limbless guy, the umbrella lady of Bandra Reclamation and Maria the leper lady of Boran Road.

Through them I exposed Marziya to pain and charity..but charity does not really drive away the pain it adds more pain like a insult to injury.

I am sure Marziya understand this as she is a very gifted child although she is only two and a half years old.

I know I must have been as intelligent like her when I was bought to Mumbai in '54 from Lucknow I was a year old or two , Mumbai was Bombay than and moved about raw at a slum in Kurla a shanty on a Hindu crematorium our first house once upon a Time ..and my Dad from those humble beginnings of remorse despair bought us to Wodehouse Road and changed our lives forever so perhaps I bond with the beggars the dregs of society..

I think this beginning is part of the end of life , Marziya sees it too..Marziya 's dad might not have seen it I left him to work in Musact and when I returned and my other two children were born I was already a Genie held in captivity in a bottle of Old Monk Rum.. perhaps too many bottles of rum.

I drank through life for over 17 years and have been dry for a about 10 years now or more so Marziya sees what I could not show to my children..shooting life with a bottle only gets you fuzzy images of a circle of confusion I could not escape from the fires of my karmic fate.

So the blog cauterizes pain and heals but it is a very slow process .. on a burner that hardly has anymore fuel...

There is Hope at the End of a Beggars Bowl

stumps for hands
as her body rusts
her saving grace
yes she believes
in jesus
she is maria
the leper lady
of boran road
much ado
no fuss
with alms
in her
beggrs bowl
she educated
her daughter
her grand children thus
though what hurts
me her daughter
a beggar too
what could be worse
born as human
on the face of earth
we carry a
karmic curse
who live on
the benevolence
of another mans purse
when the time comes
a number tag on the toe
looking skywards
in the hearse

If I stop shooting pictures and this is not an empty boast rotate my old street pictures at Flickr I could be posting new pictures everyday, pictures I shot as blanks no text whatsoever ..never had the time to pen my pain on them..

A lot of pictures I had no time to add detail or title or description and these pictures I am in a way re posting as my new poem or thought.

I am not highly educated nor bookish but I mange with a handful of words in the growing like weeds in the river bed of my head.

I am a street photographer first posturing my soul as a street poet.

My camera and not my head creates poetry my poetry creates pictures ..