Very helpful kind considerate down to earth photo journalist , and works silently grabbing the best of shots and watching him work was no less than a lesson in photography.
A very pleasing endearing human being.. Anil Shinde eminent photo journalist of Times of India publications.
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I have been skipping my diabetic shots including my dinner in the nights I get up during Sairi shoot myself with insulin have my diabetic medicine and have a single chappati roll , a mug of black tea sometimes a bit of falooda.
So perhaps all this comes to an end only the Moon will tell..normally the Shia and Sunni Idds fall on different days thanks to the myopic vision of Mullahs of both sects ..
And I cant believe all this is finally giving way to Idd Ul Fitr.
This has been the worst Idd of my life and career and its too personal to narrate it over her but I tried to overcome my pitfalls and traffic snarls of my life.
This morning my house has gone into silent mode without Marziya she is on extended holiday with her Mom.
And I shall now upload the remaining pictures of the Vartak Nagar Dahi Handi some pictures remain from 21 Ramzan too.
I am still stuck to my sons spare laptop .
My computer can be salvaged after the crash that was imminent and I got the first Rejection Slip from a Delhi publisher for my pictures and poems..I took the initiative because of my dear friend Rajiv Soni , I am happy as a free readable commodity on the internet but he insisted I give my life another chance.
I cannot imagine myself as a soulless coffee table book for the life of me.
Than there is another friend Vinay Pralkar who wants me to put up my pictures in an Art gallery and show my version of street photography my angst and pain , I keep telling him I am doing it on a bigger level on the internet but he wont take NO for an answer.
Actually I am not ready for all this caught in a gutter of despair and my bad karma.
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And here I realized my two and a half year old disciple is the guru of my guru..Marziya Shakirs Gods camera body and Lens..
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His is a very sad story of Mans fall from grace , he is a hardcore alcoholic who begs for booze on Bandra Hill Road wearing a skull cap, he is at the end of the road.
I dont know his story he sleeps in a ricksha confiscated by the cops and part of the Bandra Police Car cemetery also on Hill Road.
Now there are guys who get tremendous kick seeing bare soles and titillation for ones baser instinct is not part of my blog or street photography..
I am so I blog..shooting living humanity on the streets called the morgue ..
And perhaps this is my last Roza of Ramzan I had the last sip of water and my fast begins NOW ..
Marziya leaves today she is on extended leave with her mother away from the hustle bustle of Mumbai and the soul of my camera.
Her latest pictures put me to shame as a photographer of some repute.
Lord Ganesha waits in the wings Mother and Child are on the way to reclaim the soul of Mount Mary and the Crescent will be searched tonight a search larger than Google Search before we see photographers making kids hug forcibly on Idd Namaz Day this is the flip side of crass hackneyed Photojournalism that pimps artificiality as human emotions.
Now I would give my hand and legs to shoot the beggars of Jumma Masid on Idd day wile the attar strewn linen clad Miyas bond themselves with God..
And I really dont know how long I shall coinue to blog though the suicidal part of my brain fed up of life and dependency of hope tells me to Shut the Fuck up.. once and for all..
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An eye for an eye will
make the whole world blind
peace hope humanity
in a few words
by the mahatma defined
by my bejeweled hand
underlined
on a piece of clothing
a thought boldly
inscribed
Hey Ram
he said
he stepped aside
so that we could live
freely he gave up his soul
was this why he died
the hands that rock
the nation
take us for a ride
scam after scam
ill gotten money
that they hide
game after game
the nation raped
sodomized
humanity
once gain
trampled
by political pride
corruption
on a platter
the soul
bheja fried
dedicated to youth today tomorrow in pain and sorrow
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keeps mother fuckers
assholes dick heads
madar chods
who harass them
on their toes
a clap
that is the envy
of friends and foes
a clap from one
end of colaba
to bandra overflows
a clap at kamatipura
hijra gully no 1
or lucky compound
everyone knows
a clap at park site
vikhroli as it froze
a clap to me
this hijra demonstrates
as it grows
re echoing a pain
of their ancestry
wordless poem
textless prose
a path of freedom
from her biological
guise of a gender
the hijra chose
as she begs
from door
to door
a rudderless
ship
beached
on the shore
the future
unknown
buried
standing up
growing like a dead tree
from the cemetery floor
the hijra timeless agony
begs and whores
her ass fucked from behind
by a system all on fours
testicular tragedy
her sphincter tore
a pain central part
of her core
in my next birth
god dont make
me a hijra
her pain
a drop of a tear
on my palm
out poured
my hijra pictures
a running story board
hijra impostors
posing postulating
at bandra bazar road
