The Mystic Photographer of Mumbai

The Mystic Photographer of Mumbai, originally uploaded by firoze shakir photographerno1.

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It was a hot humid day and I was barefeet, I am barefeet in the evenings I was barefeet at Carter Road shooting the street musicians Damir and Zlatko from Croatia

This is gaothan area close to the Cross and this narrow path brings me out through a East Indian commune towards De Monte Street , where I shoot the other Cross most of the time than I exit to Bandra Hill Road via Chinchpokli road .

And I shoot what I am destined to shoot it can be anything I hardly delete what surreptitiously enters my cosmic mind by hook or by crook,... and I have stopped wondering why I shoot them , pictures I shot on a trip to Pune for a friends sisters wedding , shot in 2008 , she has become a mother now, pictures that have no meaning became poems added to my frame of poetic turbulence.

Words and pictures are like weft and warp stretched as fabric on my mind , and I dont plan a poem a word a line evolves into a tree of life a seed is what it requires from the garden of her hope and harmony.


I hate Urdu love poems but yes I am sweet and bitterly fond of old Hindi songs they add the context of my current state of mind, which is not at placid , my mind is a rough sea that storms my day to day existence..

If I did not blog I would die..I blog so I live..from one day to the next in a way I pay for a service that hooks me to my high the internet Facebook Twitter Blogspot, a singe river at Flickr waters my other web streams.

Yes I cross blog from Flickr and Flickr needs pictures before thoughts become poems or blogs..

I was given a test last night an online test I failed miserably I always feared exams since school days though fr many years I was first in my class.. an exam could wet my trousers so to speak.

I am a coward but I am also brave , in a weird sense of dichotomy.

I would be mesmerized seeing children cutting their heads during Moharam and I would shoot them , I was scared of the kama and above all spoiling my artificial blond hair..and once I raised the short sword at Kazmain Lucknow to my crown my bleeding head never rested , my heid did not bother me I had to go bald after Moharam every year because it messed up my hair in knots .

But I hate badness now and this time my hair is taking long time to grow.

I normally cut my head twice come what may , during Ashura and Chehlum , but this time I cut my head during Ashura in Chennai, Kurla and again at Hussain Tekri in Jaorah... during Chelum.

I stopped doing ag ka matam walking on fire because it made my diabetic leg more injury prone.

And this year if God wills I will pierce my cheeks with a 18 feet road to show my solidarity with my Hindu Tamil friends at the Maryamma feast, every year I make a vow but someone or the other holds me back.. and I would want my dear brother Dr Glenn Losack MD to be there he is the closest to my friend I am a loner in real life.

I have a lot of friends acquaintances but no free for all buddy nights .. I dont go out I dont socialize, perhaps I am married and a singleton too,,,


A few of my friends wil be shooting the Koovagam Eunuch festival in Tamilnadu Villuparam as I sit here manacled to the hot humid soul of Mumbai I cant go, I am not destined to go, Lord Iravan is not ready for me as yet...

My chances of going to the Urus in Ajmer are very bleak I know if I make it ut would be a miracle .. and every year I make it is nothing short of a miracle thanks to the generosity of Peersaab Fakhru Miya Hujra No6 ..his sons Farid Miya and Qambar Bhai..

I hate texting my photo blog as a picture it can stand on its own two feet it dies not need words, and here I am thankful to my new Muse who has re invigorated this withering poet with Balzacs Old Goriot's soul...and as every form of creativity requires a Guru .. every display of creativity requires a Muse who encourages the artist in man.

I write for her she knows it though she pretends she does not know it.. and confuses me in writing more and more prolifically profusely..I write to impress her I know she reads me with her eyes shut that is the way of Sufi form of Understanding ..Reason and Knowledge.

Both Marziya and I shoot with our eyes closed ..and I have to teach Marziya to shoot on one leg like the all knowledgeable Siberian Crane.


Marc De Clercq my true friend from Ghent is in Pundicherry , he will shoot the Koovagam Feast than move to Delhi and walk with the Malangs from Delhi to Ajmer a tough but very adventurous spiritual trip..he calls me updates me and will come home once hits Mumbai.
He is family and my people are fond of this friendly giant who speaks fluent Hindi ..

And this is pure pristine Blog and this under no circumstances can ever ever become a Facebook note.. the only application I stopped using completely I pimp my blogs at Facebook and it adds to my creditability on the Internet.

My blog stats at Flick show from Facebook through my home page 200 people visit my links my photo blogs poems and rant.

Than You Father of All Good Things Mr Marc Zuckerburg..