Sunday, August 22, 2010

Adab Aur Tehzeeb

138,748 items / 1,075,037 views

What you are
resides in
your blood
your heritage
your ancestry
word to word
makes you
or cultured
adab tehzeeb
reflecting your
without being
makes you
stand out
from the herd
a messenger
of peace hope
this little bird
the gift of her life
our prayers
god heard

Recycled Toilet Paper Being Sent to the Games

138,746 items / 1,074,415 views

the poor have no water
to wash their bums
a sordid shame
recycled toilet
being sent to
the games
hand painted
for greater pleasure
to add to
our kama sutra fame
when sportspeople
make love
with russian whores
if the condoms leak
we will be blamed
russian kids
with indian names
also lying in wait
for the marathon men
hijras transgender
lady boys old dames
the fire in the loins
even god could not tame
tumescent engorged
on the soul of our nation
already defamed

Sorry, you can only submit 2 posts to IndiVine every 24 hour

138,746 items / 1,074,873 views

posted at Indi blogger than blogged at flickr

This is hitting below the belt

lashes and welt

each time

i came to indi blogger

insulted humiliated

i felt

to the the god of blogs

my pain i spelt

hoping that reading this

his heart would melt

like an errent child

in front of his blog pulpit

head bowed i knelt

greetings from mumbai

from bollywoods most wanted

heartfelt suave and svelte

dedicated to renie ranvin

The Sacrficial Goat Meditates

ramzan time
death awaits
her joys
her happy times
the goat mediates
bound to the butchers
blade is her karmic
fate when her time
comes she will go
she wont hesitate
she has one regret
she told me
in her goat language
the humans had been
kind to her from
the garbage dump
she ate what she ate
sloth hate
envy ungratefulness
was not part of
her trait
she still loved
the butcher
the butchers kids
such was her
blissful state
as she sat in the
auto rickshah
meter jammed
knowing well
in advance
she would be
made into
mutton biryani
on another mans
dinner plate
her heaven
her hell
her paradise
did not exist
a kingdom
without gates
her body
her soul
for mans
spiritual welfare
to the greater glory
of god she donates

This is a Human Tent of Despair

holding the plastic
winding sheet
with frozen hands
a beggar boy
at the traffic stand
such is humanity
a child's
last stand
he will not
in the common
wealth games
marathon run
he was disqualified
i understand
it was only for the rich man
the rich man to get much richer
the games were planned
under the shadow
of an upraised hand
that silently
in gloom watches
the common wealth
of the people
crash land
wealth by stealth
such wastelands

Making Love on the Streets

the guy
is wet
the umbrella
suffice to say
making love on
one such
unrainy day
a grainy 'brainy day
she on her part
is coaxing him
to take her to band stand
she too wants to play
she too wants to get wet
the waves and be swept away
such is love on display

in a city starved
of a lovers den
such images you capture
now and then
with a click
of a mouse
that serves as pen

Three Street Smart Idiots

138,746 items / 1,074,415 views

Most of my pictures are moving pictures shot from cabs and auto rickshahs ,,

bald headed
with lots of guts
live on a street
in shanty of huts
one stammers
one stutters
one bad words
loves to splurt
word to word
three against
the might
of a herd
three flock
like warbling
now going for
hafta wasuli
from roadside
shop keepers
selling iftar fare
fruits jelly falooda
samosas bhajias
dates and custards
their body language
created this poem
three street smart

I shot these kids from a moving cab, these are kids you will find in any Muslim ghetto or locality,and Ramzan does a lot of good in controlling their bad upbringing in many cases.

I live close to a slum, and the kids almost the same age talk in a lingo laced with abusive words piciked up from the gutters of life or words that the adults use as normal bill of conversational fare , without realizing it is being picked up by the kids,

One of the most common word that begins all conversations in the slums extensively used by kids and I am not making it up, is Aye Loudey which is a dirty slang for the male member is something more abusive in sound and content than dickhead,

And a few days back a person was telling me at least for a month he wont be hearing all this but he was wrong this word and others too reverberate in Muslim pockets and maybe in ghettos were other communities live too,

This was one of the reasons I stopped taking Marziya through the slums to my workplace, but I showed her how kids live for the few months we walked through this gutter of human despair.

Some words like chutiya teri bahen ka , teri ma ka are words that are part of the lexicon of life in every corner or nukkad of slum dwellings ..

You might wonder how I am writing all this, today is my 10 fast I dont keep track, I just fast, this was a subject I had kept in abeyance and the kids pictures without text I posted last night bought out all this ..

There is a marked change in the manner of kids during Ramzan whose parents have bought them up well, you see them rushing for namaz for tarabi and other religious related events.

So in a way it is ones surroundings parentage that makes the kids what they are.

Recently there was an incident that occurred at JJ Colony I did not want to give it much importance but I shall tell you in brief I had come from shooting the Bandra Station Iftar time pictures and cut across the sky walk to enter the Anjuman e Islam lane most of the people know me as thy have seen me shoot pictures and they know I am trying to popularize this lane as a Ramzan food stop.

I was taking a picture of a guy selling nan Muslim flat bread and a guy in his 40s pushed me roughly shouting at me why I was taking the bread sellers picture without permission , I had shot the same bread seller a few days back too, I was about to talk to him when he raised his hand at me, in the meantime a crowd gathered in my support and this local don just slipped away.

In normal situation I would have unleashed my fury too, but Ramzan makes us cool headed and tolerant, tolerance is the Mantra of Peace , we dont hit back fight argue our fast our meditation I am always carrying my prayer beads along with my camera.'

So when I read 60 soldiers killed or some more persons or child killed in Kashmir it breaks my hearts and I know it breaks your heart too, why not show restrain in this cherished noble month that is attributed as Gods own month beats me.

And three kids can in one image unfold so many emotions locked up in silence when I first shot them and now a perpetual text and way of life through a stray thought,

This is a blog it needs no agenda , it maybe purposeless to those who dont understand the street imagery and young urchins on the roads,

So it is not a just picture I shot the criteria of a photographer but I shot an emotional process the only forked path where a blog and photo journalism part ways.

Bloggers are known as failed writers burnt out writers I have no pretensions of becoming a writer and my audience is the man a little more fairer than me I write for him , this is my mind set from the time I became a blogger I wrote for my Buzznet friends Benn Bell and the rest of them , I still write for them but I am lucky some more read me at Facebook and Twitter where I pimp my blogs .

And now it includes the brilliant and witty bloggers from Indi Bloggers too.. and I am mature content in my use of cuss words so use your discretion ,,,

I think we are all grown ups and if you have not grown up wake up and read the Times of India where a child slits his step fathers throat or a ten year old buy rapes a five year old girl..or a twelve year old girl implicates her teacher of rape and molestation for failing her in class and I can go on but I wont..

And I dont know call me a monolithic moron but trusting your pre pubescent daughter or ward with a male tutor without a responsible person in the house is asking for trouble , even tutors carry their libido in gonads that are bigger than a childs school bag that hangs on their back.

You get the gist..

Hooch Mixed With Rain Water

He is a beggar who lives sleeps on Hill Road his poison is booze , he does not eat, he drinks and sleeps , sleeps and drinks .

He lives in the same clothes he has never changed since the first time he made Bandra Hill Road is home he is living only a few meters away from the Bandra Police Station on the same road but does it matter ,

At first I thought he was a genuine beggar and allowed Marziya to give him a few coins it has stopped I will not encourage alms for a wrong purpose,what he is doing is in a plastic bottle this only possession he has filled the country hooch and diluting it with better than Bsleri natural rain water,

And Mumbai is over drenched with non stop rains so dont leave home without an umbrella it may be a nice rainless weather and within seconds you are hoodwinked by unpredictable rains.

I was caught last evening and walked home drenched my camera bag in a plastic cover ,

This is my ast blog as I hit the hard boulder of my pillow to put myself to sleep.

The Dead Poets Workshop

138,746 items / 1,074,415 views

in sheer darkness
of my mind
words thrive live
they are poor
held by a breath
nurtured by a whiff
they escape
the sewer
of my mind
as a street poem
on cyber space
they relive

i use the same words
over and over again
live let live
my aberrations
on the soul
of your poetry

optional title

Yes I am a Positive Poetry Spam
my words my images JPEG TIFF

Ramzan Spread Overflows

The spirit of True Islam
founded on hope and humanity
peace and brotherhood
at ramzan time shows
the only time
that God his bounty
on our hearts
like little saplings grows
from my garden
into your garden
the fragrance
of flowers
God bestows
aligned with piety
charity humility
in each row
in the stillness of time
rain drenched
a ramzan spread
as it overflows
every single morsel
after breaking the fast
becomes a poem of life
first it was prose
marziya shakir
a message of
a better tomorrow
for all our children
embedded as hope
in the camera of
serenity evermore

this and much more than this
fused in marziya the camera child
time froze a fathers wish
for a grandfather god chose
marziya shakir petals
crowning the glory
of a pink rose

poetized on the soul of a street poet firoze


Hope, originally uploaded by firoze shakir photographerno1.