i dont know why i shoot what i shoot the soul was willing the vision bears fruit barefeet bejeweled subject and photographer lyrical duet hardcore reality seldom cute after my death a silent flute wordless poetry totally mute a soliloquy time wont dilute or trample with hobnailed boots sartorial serendipity accidental blogger stitching trousers shirts and suits made to measure designed as tribute aligning body language aesthetics to suit customized no dispute no branches only roots
Tailored Tragedy Within A Blog time and tide could not uproot
heavy rains in November no respite photography is mystical meanderings play of light captured by inner sight third eye of shiva always right be it color or black and white the cycle of life dawn and night a feather touch wrong or right humility is what adds to your height or a fall dust you bite who needs a pen with a click of ganeshas mouse thoughts you write the poets malady his madness his poetic plight the magic of life in mid flight darkness at dawn face saving midnights
Happy Birthday Beautiful Girl!!! Enjoy your special day! Thank you for the gift of all your lovely images in your Grandfather's pictures! We are all very proud of the wonderful photographs you take, too! Don't be in a hurry to grow up. Be HAPPY, HEALTHY and SMILE. Love from your friends, Shirley and Harry
as she turns 3 on the soul of my flickr web page a memory captured because i had a camera from her birth 24 November till this stage moments held in a gilded cage as she grew so did i my expectations as a grand father as a blogger a street photographer she did raise i taught her she taught me inbuilt wisdom worthy of praise life is a bubble caught in a maze head bowed as the soul prays under the chair is a home where she stays ruminatively all alone with her mind she plays embedded in the soul of a camera on the surface a smiling sometimes pouted face to a trickle of water on the sands of karbala her ancestry trace a shia child ghame hussain ' the only phrase as humanity is what it says
I began shooting Marziya Shakir from the second day of her life a story that began as a single picture at Holy Family Hospital Bandra ..and it grew as she was my first grand child , ha…
Tulsi Vivah is the ceremonial marriage of the Tulsi plant (holy basil) to the Hindu god Vishnu or his avatar Krishna. This ceremony can be performed any time between Prabodhini Ekadashi - the eleventh lunar day of the bright fortnight of the Hindu month Kartik to the full moon of the month (Kartik Poornima) but usually it is performed on the eleventh or the twelfth lunar day. The day varies from region to region. The Tulsi wedding signifies the end of the monsoon and the beginning of the Hindu wedding season.
Tulsi is venerated as a goddess in Hinduism and sometimes considered a wife of god Vishnu. She is often called as Vishnupriya, the beloved of Vishnu. The legend behind Tulsi Vivah and its rites are told in the scripture Padma Purana.
According to Hindu mythology, the Tulsi plant was a woman named Vrinda (Brinda), a synonym of Tulsi. Sh…
one seen by all the other covered totally misunderstood for wearing a hijab the essence of her muslim womanhood the ravages of hate she has withstood a garment of modesty a niqab or a hood which the west considers a garment of oppression she thinks is good which she will bequeath to her own daughter as a gift of her motherhood
a sartorial soliloquy sublime the hijab the powerhouse of muslim womanhood on the crossroads of time blasphemed by the west condemned as accessory to crime a deathly knell that fails to chime banned criminalized it rises from the ashes every time
fucked fate of man under the wheels of a fucked van shot by a blogger firoze while the drunk driver dozed one door of doom opens the other closed poetic moments of pathos deliriously enclosed a lazy moment in deathly repose only pedestrian poets through images sodomize the soul of prose street photography Dickensian dilemma from the gutter into the soul of humanity flows
beneath the karmic wheels of a failed destiny his body lies hanging precariously between earth hell and paradise lustfully born through a matrix of hate as man he paid the price bleeding sweat tears and cries hollow sockets hopelessly confused like the Sphinx eyes man the soul of the devil in godly disguise every day springs a new surprise
he lives precariously hanging from a precipice of hope he will survive more dead less alive each time he drinks nosedives even death gives hm reprieve bleeding feet he walks on the razor sharp edge of a knife first he lost his dreams than he lost his wife