Sunday, April 17, 2011
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toh meri kismet
unke darwaze ke
bahar na hoti
koie phinagaya pant
resham ki dhoti
mere pav aur hath
ke kade meri
mere gale ke har
mere dil ka moti
kash maine unki
bat mani hoti
par na soti
meri kabar par
dekar na roti
aur ka hota
aur ki hoti
aur meri poti
har gaya main
waqt ki chunauti
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an online questionnaire
one night she shared
in midst her wakeful
nightmare a poet
a girl woman
an unusual pair
a few answers
two souls bare
caught in a cosmic
snare neither here
nor there living
on internet water air
a circle held
in the arms
of a square
meetha 'kadwa zehar
subha sham do paher
this is sincerely written as an epitaph on my poets grave
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Near my house is a slum and once you exit out the slum there is a huge empty space a mound some litigation issue but kids play here and it is a haven of refuge for the slum kids, cricket marbles , and childhood unweaves a magic ...unwavering moments of nostalgia..
Next to this mound is the entry to the Shree Daya Sagar Hanuman Mandir and yesterday there was a water cut I shot pictures of people running for water .. it was sad .. the other side of darkness and despair Mumbai.
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Because the mind saw what it saw , it saw what the eyes dare not see it triggered a response and I shot the xylophone of cosmic love, it was vibrant soul endearing but time has taken its toll it has gone silent it plays the tunes of lost hope lost memories ..like drunken waves slashing the shores of nostalgia.
I call myself a beggar poet, I am not the kind of poet you will see on a poets podium reciting candy floss, I am not a Dalit revolutionary poet, I have no Marxist leanings ,and luckily I am a million miles away from Chattisgarh.. I dont possess porn or possessing porn would sentence me for life.. you are known by the books you possess ..I am not a Gandhian ...nor am I a follower of Anna Hazare..
I am me I am not into groups here at Flickr or Facebook , I will not click the Like buttons , I wont create a poetry or photography page I am happy where I am a single blog friendly window at Flickr.
I only shoot what I am destined to shoot I sometimes shot the same thing over and over again its like humping the same woman over and again till you get tired of humping and take a break from humps and bumps.
A poet may be married a bachelor or anything but a poem is created from seed of love it is love that nurtures his poetry.. hate does too but than does not work in the long run..
There was a girl poet called Amberlee at poetry site she hated Indians she hated Indian cows the grass chewing type she hated me because I told her to shut the Fuck up , she wrote a poem on me I suck guys and every possible form of hate she dumped on me this American poetess than I wrote a poem called Pussy Fat Pussy Fat where have you been.. she has not been seen till date.this is my most read poem on the Internet.. and another one Hijda Sex the Tantric way that has over 200000 views in 3 and a half years.
I wrote some crazy stuff and though it makes me blush I have not deleted them they will survive me even after I am dead and gone.
I try not to post them as links on Facebook so as not to add fuel to fire ...and it is these posts and the hijra posts only that push my stats to 20000 views every day.I am ashamed sometime at my notoriety to fame.
So when I am plunged int the darkness of desires and bitten so to speak by a new hope of light that inflames engorges my creativity and a bit of my languishing libido I welcome change and have written freshly .. poems that wont even make pre pubescent teen turn red ..I am trying to clean up my act write simple poems..understandable so I use the same key words over and over again..
And I also know I wont ever be published so I stopped approaching publishers completely.. I am my own pirated version online.. and I am grateful to a smelly cat for making me more vibrant positive .. I am an erotic poet so it is tough writing poems with a a huge boulder placed on the gonads of doom and destiny.
And I have lost count of the poems I write as some of the are poems too though I have not annexed them to my pictorial soul..they are wordless and speak within the eloquence of silence.
And I hate cricket I hate politics I hate Whabbism. is putting it mildly.. call-it reverse racism on the soul of my poetry.
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These are two East Indian brothers living in the gaothan , both bachelors very reclusive and one is friendly the other hardly talks wears this one singlet every day washes it in the night , maybe he has two..I shot him recently but he turned his back to me.
And this singlet speaks to me in a language of poetic silence I understand it says somany things and it is a branded item , branded with pain , branded with sweat grime and smell, I can smell it you cant..you know what I mean..and certainly not feline smell which is overpowering musky and attracts all your erogenous zones .
So now you know why I shoot smelly cats in my area , my cat pictures are all dedicated to my dear friend poet Anthony Posey from New Orleans all my photos of Appu and the blind leper woman of Boran Road Maria are dedicated to Dr Glenn Losack MD..'
All my shop window photos are dedicated to Ben Bell
And I am lucky I have more quality friends online than off line ..we dont inter act but we have healthy regard for each others thoughts and work.
And these are the friends once Buzznet Refugees that helped me through life , created a blogger from my pictorial soul
This is dedicated to all of them..and it has nothing to do with my Chemical Romance...
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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..
Damir Plays The Didgeridoo at Carter Road Bandra, originally uploaded by firoze shakir photographerno1.
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They had placed a hanky on the speaker and people dropped some money for these guys street musicians from Croatia on a mission of Peace Love and Brotherhood.
They are trying to collect money for their onward journey, and music on the street is the only way they can supplement a friend Ollie and another friend Sunil Mendes are trying to help them out like in our own way.
Our city demand we share our hospitality with them and show them the respect they show for our country our culture they follow a path Hinduism.. and are devotees of Shivananda Maharaj.
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Last evening I caught up with street musicians Damir and Zlatko playing fr the crowds at Carter Road to make money for their visa and journey to Iran from Iran they will cycle back to Croatia .
But at Carter Road promenade after playing for sometime they were driven out by the watch man..I had to leave but I shot quite a few frames of their angst and the survival on mean streets of life..
They love Mumbai and the people of Mumbai they confessed they had overstayed the hospitality of St Peter Church so they had to move out from there too.
So this is life as it weaves its web around the lotus feet of Man.
Broken Dreams Shot By Marziya Shakir Photographerno1, originally uploaded by firoze shakir photographerno1.
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She was on the bed I gave her my camera and it took just one shot for her to get it right on target ...and I am not at all surprised she is My Guru I am her Teacher ,
She had the camera under her control, and nothing stops her from shooting the layer within the layer she shot..
And this shot reminded me of an old song from Madhumati..
Toote Huye Khwaabon Ne Hum Ko Ye Sikhaayaa Hain
Dil Ne Jise Paayaa Thaa, Aakhon Ne Gawaayaa Hain
Hum Dhoondhate Hain Jinako, Jo Mil Ke Naheen Milate
Ruthhe Hain Naa Jaane Kyo, Mehumaan Wo Mere Dil Ke
Kyaa Apanee Tamannaa Thee, Kyaa Saamane Aayaa Hain
Laut Aayee Sadaa Meree, Takaraa Ke Sitaaron Se
Ujadee Huyee Duniyaan Ke, Sunasaan Kinaaron Se
Par Ab Ye Tadapanaa Bhee Kuchh Kaam Naa Aayaa Hain
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lost web pages
of hope a fire rages
within time and space
love a wooden oak
refuses to age
a child is also a sage
at some stage
on her homepage
a lover on rampage
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of an impassioned
poet in captivity
from the thought
because she was
once bitten now shy
her back to reality
the ghost of her
ex lover returns
hiss poems his passion
on a slow burner
she calls him
a very good friend
the poet thanks her
in their hands
have so much
in a lovebirds cage
for freedom yearns
it is not yet this poets
turn lost in transit
on the soul of her
A Police State With Saudi Thugs Called Bahrain, originally uploaded by firoze shakir photographerno1.
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Bahraini pro-democracy activist Zainab Alkhawaja tweeted,
"THEY JUST CAME! They took my dad, my dads blood is still on the stairs! They hit my dad so much! They beat him and he couldn't breath."
She wrote the above just minutes after three members of her family were beaten and taken away by masked police officers.
Stand with Ms. Alkhawaja and demand the release of her father, Abdulhadi Alkhawaja »
Mr. Alkhawaja, a prominent human rights activist, was taken along with her daughter's husband, and brother-in-law. They are among an estimated 600 detainees in custody following weeks of protest.
In the past two months, Bahraini authorities have been brutally cracking down on pro-democracy protesters. Hundreds have been arrested and dozens killed by security forces and troops from neighboring Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emirates.
Call on Bahrain to release Abdulhadi Alkhawaja and other peaceful protesters »
Thanks for taking action!
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These are children of the temple they live in the temple they are heats of the temple they are god they are godliness they are wary of me scared I look different ... yes i do...he made me different
god made me the way he
made me i have nothing
to say in my defense
i am wisdom he gently
on the soul of nonsense
he endowed me with
vision he placed the third
eye of shiva in my
camera lens to
the soul of substance
he made some parts
of my reality dense
he made me stupid
foolish dumb but
he made me human
in one sentence
words words words
words within words
like crawling little snakes
he placed in the cauldron
of my burning head
he made me sensitive
to suffering pain morbidity
passionate and intense
he made me sincere
he showed me a path
winding to her house
before my journey
but on the other
hand he made
her a bit like me
to protect her from
my poetic overtures
around her heart
he gently placed
a love that has
no stop over no end
my past her future
in a poem in a few
words of humility
i have tried to condense
whatever has to be will be
a thought scary and immense
i hope she accepts the verdict of fate in the roadside market it sells only for six pence
Doctor Glenn Losack MD We Surely Miss You God Promise, originally uploaded by firoze shakir photographerno1.
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This tells our story shot by a bystander a shop keeper actually , he had shot Appu and me earlier too.. demystifying the Nikon D 80..
I had some work at my shop so I was in a big hurry but shot some hijras before I took a cab back home..
And I know Glenn Losack must be eying these pictures with thoughts I wont gauge , but once he comes down to Mumbai we will be 3 street photographers shooting Appu.
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Marziya has a pictorial memory and remembers Appu very well..and I show her pictures shot by me that include in the frame of my poetic thoughts..
How she relates to them is what gives a new meaning to an old picture..she keeps telling me and she is 3 and a half year old why did he come under the car and break his hands and legs Marziya was 23 months old when I took her to Mahim to shoot this scene human morbidity pain and despair.
Updated 10 July 2010
These are my oldest images when I visited Chor Bazar on Fridays to scrounge for old stuff old cameras I had over 300 of them and I gave them away a few years back for peanuts, and I shot this limbless phenomenon Appu My Best Friend.
And he always had a smile on his face and mind you as a street poet it was not his bodys deformity I showed you , but his resilience of human spirit , though battered bruised he was happy uncomplaining.
This was a blank post here at Flickr I am adding text for those who dont know Appu..
Appu stopped sitting at Chor Bazar , I dont know the reason why , than he would disappear for months and resurface at Mahim church.
It was here in 2008 I introduced him to my mentor Dr Glenn Losack.
Last I shot Appu was when I took my grand daughter Marziya Shakir without informing anyone at home.
I gave Marziya Rs 20 and without showing her Appu who was not visible let her walk in the crowd till she herself spotted Appu and handed over the money to him.
This was her street lesson in Charity..and I will take Marziya there once again this time to shoot Appu with my Nikon D 80 .
Marziya has been trained as a street photographer and crowds dont intimidate her at all.
And this street photography set on Flickr has 10599 pictures but if I were to include all that I shot on the streets the rituals processions it would reach the 80000 mark..so I have not included all my Moharam pictures and other street pictures in this set.
Street photography is poetizing street pain..documenting the soul of humanity living on the roads of despair and remorse.
Due to various confusing emotions I have stopped carrying my camera to work, just dont feel like shooting , and it is the first time my Flickr overflowing photo stream is at a complete stand still.
I have no dearth of situations to shoot pictures...but I think after coming back from Ajmer I am saturated of all feelings , I am nothing but a Void..
17 April 011
Its tough being myself now imagine trying to be Appu for a few minutes, without someone taking care of his daily needs he cant live.. this is the ultimate in the depravity of mans karmic destiny, it scares me completely of my wit, and I know him since many years never once asked him how it happened..just could not ask him ...never will.
I have not met him for a very long time he hails from Assam and is a Muslim but he could be a Hindu too does it matter he carries the burden of his existence on a stump sitting on the middle of the road..
Will the UID help him I dont know..
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Hanuman Chalisa is hindi poem written by Mahakavi Goswami Tulsidas in the sixteenth century in praise of Lord Hanuman. It is very popular among a lot of modern hindus and is generally recited on Tuesdays (considered a holy day for devotees of Lord Hanuman).
The poem is called a chalisa as it contains forty (chalis in Hindi) verses. The structure of the poem is extremely simple and rhythmic, thus making it all the more popular. The poem praises Lord Hanuman’s strength and kindness and recounts the Lord’s great deeds.
Shri Hanuman Chalisa
Shri guru charan saraj raj, Nij manu mukur sudhare |
Barnau raghubar bimal jasu, Jo dhayak phal chare ||
Budhihien tanu jaanke, Sumerao pavan-kumar |
Bal budhi vidhya dehu mohe, Harhu kales bikar ||
Jai hanuman gyan gun sagar |
Jai kapise tehu lok ujagar ||
Ram dut atulit bal dhama |
Anjani putra pavan sut nama ||
Mahabir bikram bajragee |
Kumati nivas sumati ke sangi ||
Kanchan baran biraj subesa |
Kann kundal kunchit kesa ||
Haat vajar ao dheja biraje |
Kandhe muj janeu sajee ||
Sankar suvan kesrinandan |
Tej pratap maha jag bandhan ||
Vidhyavan gune aati chatur |
Ram kaaj kaibe ko aatur ||
Prabhu charit sunibe ko rasiya |
Ram lakhan sita maan basiya ||
Susham roop dhari siyahi dhikhava |
Bikat roop dhari lank jarava ||
Bhim roop dhari asur sahare |
Ramchandra ke kaaj savare ||
Laye sanjeevan lakhan jiyaye |
Shriraghuvir harsha ure laye ||
Raghupati kinhe bahut badai |
Tum mam preye bharat sam bhai ||
Sahart badan tumarhu jas gavey |
Aas kahi shripati kant lagavey ||
Sankadeek bhramadhi munisa |
Narad sarad sahit ahisa ||
Jam kuber digpal jaha thi |
Kavi kovid kahi sake kaha thi ||
Tum upkar sughuv kehina |
Ram milaye raj pad denha ||
Tumraho mantra vibhekshan mana |
Lankeshvar bhaye sab jag jaan ||
Jug sahes jojan per bhanu |
Linyo tahi madhur phal janu ||
Prabhu mudrika meli mukh mahi |
Jaldhi ladhi gaye acraj nahi ||
Durgam kaaj jagat ke jete |
Sugam anugrah tumre tete ||
Ram duaare tum rakhvare |
Hoot na aagya binu pasare ||
Sab sukh lahai tumhre sarna |
Tum rchak kahu ko daarna ||
Aapan tej samharo aape |
Teno lok hakte kape ||
Bhut pesach nikat nahi aaveh |
Mahavir jab naam sunaveh ||
Nase rog hare sab peera |
Japat nirantar hanumat bal bira ||
Sankat se hanuman chudave |
Maan kam bachan dayan jo lavey ||
Sab per ram tapasvi raja |
Tin ke kaaj sakal tum saja ||
Aur manorat jo kayi lave |
Tasuye amit jeevan phal pavey ||
Charo guj pratap tumarah |
Hai prasidh jagat ujeyara ||
Sadhu sant ke tum rakhvare |
Asur nikandan ram dulare ||
Ashat sidhi navnidhi ke data |
As var deen jaanki mata ||
Ram rasayan tumhre pasa |
Sada raho raghupati ke dasa ||
Tumreh bhajan ram ko bhavey |
Janam janam ke dukh bisravey ||
Ant kaal raghubar pur jaie |
Jaha janam hari bhagat kahaei ||
Aur devta chitna dhareyo |
Hanumat seye sarav sukh karaei ||
Sankat kate mite sab pera |
Jo sumere hanumat balbira ||
Jai jai jai hanuman gusai |
Kripa karo guru dev ke naai ||
Jo sat bar pat kar koi |
Chutehi bandhi maha sukh hoai ||
Jo yahe pade hanuman chalisa |
Hoye sidhi sa ke goresa ||
Tulsidas sada hari chera |
Kijeye nath hridaye maha dera ||
Pavantnaye sankat haran, Mangal murti roop |
Ram lakhan sita sahet, Hridaye basau sur bhup ||
Acharyaji of Shree Daya Sagar Hanuman Mandir Bandra Bazar, originally uploaded by firoze shakir photographerno1.
180,594 items / 1,421,804 views
The satsang at this nearby Mandir have begun in earners m, and Acharyaji and I share a unique bond as human and as one Hindu and the other a Shia Muslim who calls himself Shia Muslim.
I love my country I love my culture I am at home with my culture of Hope and Hindutva a message of peace and humanity.
I have shot this Mandir during the ongoing Hanuman Jayantii celebrations , and this temple has a iconic Hanuman statue that was dug from under the ground by Acharyaji who saw it buried here in Mumbai Bandra he saw the dream in Varnasi , and it is a unique story how he and the late owner of this temple together brought Hanumanji out...
The temple borders the slum which is my short cut to work.. and after I finish this lot I will upload pictures of Damir and Zlatko playing music to the walkers and the crowds at Carter Road a very interesting set I shot barefeet..
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Since Thursday my net connection thanks to MTNL Broadband has been floundering erratic and has driven me insane , I complained but than yesterday was a bank holiday so I will wait till Monday or surrender my modem.
And normally they are helpful attend my complaints but this time they have ignored my plea I have pictures to upload but than the uploader crashes , and my earkier Internet provider You Telecom was worse nightmare than this I had to move I took MTNL and if MTNL persists I shall move my bloggers ass from here also.. I am fed up of docket numbers they punch on my already badly bruised blog of an ass.
And I hope the General Manager of MTNLBroadband is reading this I have no other issue I pay on time yest service and infrastructure seems to be lacking completely.
I am affiliated to Bandra Reclamation Telephone exchange..
I Hate Facebook Applications Silly And Juvenile, originally uploaded by firoze shakir photographerno1.
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they get on my goat
they get on my bile
a facebook application
invite i run a
one upon another
on my home page
they pile time waste
dear mr mark zuckerburg
its time you gave facebook
a new makeover
a new sartorial style
bring back those
who ran away from
from self exile
its all i have to say
as my wall update
my new profile
an endurance test
of my lifestyle
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with a strange
soul i try to please
to put her at ease
on bent knees
on my soul
as a masterpiece
a poet she loves
'i try to freeze
into her heart
what she sees
i am not the
one she fancies
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like a little
her few feathers
in my hands
into my heart
like an arrow
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i shoot pain
as it overshadows
the soul of my humanity
the muslim beggar woman
on the streets barefeet me
face to face she envies
this poets destiny
but does she not know
he is a beggar like her
she free but the poet
born in captivity
a beggar like me she would definitely not want to be spectral silence silhouettes low key his soul crushed between a picture and poetry
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she locks me out
shuts the doors
from her nebulous
dreams let me in
please let me in
as my soul shivers
as my soul screams
of my poetry
to her cosmic
fate my poetic
i try to redeem
echoes alif lam mim
,,i am embedded
in your soul
deep deep inside .
a thought supreme
a moment lost
where there is fire
there is haleem
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i am like a burning car
bursting away in flames
no hope at all no claim
fate hidden in smoke
all aflame as i play
out my life's game
but still lame
could not tame
i took the wrong turn
an illusion not the same
i still wonder how
she hit the windscreen'
of my heart from where
she came steering
wheel of my life
wont move no more
bruised brutalized maimed
an accident of life birth death
from a photographer
a poet he became
a deleted file
a blocked soul no name
You eat breath poetry sir
so its not possible i know
she fortuitously exclaimed
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Call it fortuitous , but with his eyes closed the father of the bride has a metaphoric expression of bliss on his face..
Happiness the upper veneer and beneath a sadness because like every father Mr Hemant Panchmiya loves Neha his only daughter the most..
His weakness and his inner strength is Neha - I can feel it as I love Samiya my only daughter and shall go through similar emotions when she leaves my home to start her own family with her life mate.
Leena Bhabhi - Mr Hemant Panchmiyas wife hides her emotions , with grace and dignity of a mother.
But Hemant Bhais emotions burn like a CD on my fatherlike soul..
This picture shot by a wedding photographer inspite of its shortcomings brings home the point..
Fathers are more soft hearted and carry a surrogate motherhood in their maculinity..
Nirav Nehas brother well he was the man eligible , dressed to kill, and will soon get married too.
And I hope his cousin Mitul Thakkar and Nirav tie the knot to respective life mates both bachelors seeking marital nirvana , I pray for both of them..
Mitul Thakkar is the son of Mr Nitin Thakkar another caring human soul with a very caring wife...
Hemant Bhai and his wife Leena became proud grand parents of Vivaan
Nirav and Mitul got married to beautiful ladies respectively..
Nitin Thakkar and Hemant Bhai are the two pillars of my life ..
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Mr Nitin Manmohan is a celebrity cult figure..of Bollywood.
I have been associated with Nitinji since the time of Insaaf directed by Late Mukul S Anand , produced by Neha Arts , Nitinjis production house.This was Mr Vinod Khannas come back vehicle..
Later I joined Mr Nitin Manmohan at his design house named Prachins, after his daughter Prachi.
I worked for about 7 years , was associated with the costumes of all Nitinjis films, Bol Radha Bol, Mahasangram, Eena Meena Deeka ,Bol Radha Bol and Army. Deeewangi, .and many others..
I am indebted to Nitinji for whatever I am today..
Though today Nitinji has become a big name as a builder., he has never forgotten me , we meet at crossroads one way or the other.
Nitinjis elder brother Mr Hemant Panchmiya has been my spinal column in my time of need, and I became very close to him after leaving Nitinji and starting my own tailoring establishment..
Hemant Bhai invited me to Pune for the nuptials of his only daughter Neha with Saurabh...on 28th April 2008 .at the Meridian.
This is an auspicious day as Asif Shakir my eldest son now in Lucknow was married on the same day.
I left Dadar at 7am reached Pune at about 11.30 am, just in time , the Pehras had got over.Both the bride and the bridegroom looked dashing, and here I thought marriages are made in heaven.
Hemant Bhai and his son Nirav Panchmiya Mrs Hemant Panchmiya were dressed for the occassion...
A few pictures I shot and skipping lunch I took a cool cab back to Mumbai as I had some urgent work committment reaching Mumbai at 3.30pm.
Here is Nitinji with me, and its a comfort to have Nitinjis arms around me as his blessings are very important , I still call him my boss..
One of the finest boss I ever had..
Here I must add even a good boss and a good employee relationships are made in heaven..
Neha and Saurabh are proud parents of a son Vivaan..born a few days back
Hemant Bhai and his wife Leena are Nana Nani
Neerav is Mama No 1
by C. Gautam
Published by Ambedkar Memorial Trust, London
Milan House, 8 Kingsland Road, London E2 8DA
Second Edition, May 2000
The importance that Dr. B.R. Ambedkar had in the shaping of modern India should not be forgotten. He led millions of the oppressed to a life of self-respect, dignity, and responsibility. Babasaheb always stressed the importance of better education, so that our position in society can be uplifted. It was he who was primarily responsible for the Constitution, adopted after India became independent. Babasaheb began the revival of Buddhism in India that has grown tremendously after his death, and continues to grow today among his countless followers.
This book briefly outlines the history of his life, showing how he overcame all the difficulties facing the oppressed in India, to become one of the greatest men of modern times.
Ambedkar Memorial Trust, London
His Birth and Greatness Foretold
On April 14th, 1891 a son was born to Bhimabai and Ramji Ambadvekar. His father Ramji was an army officer stationed at Mhow in Madhya Pradesh - he had risen to the highest rank an Indian was allowed to hold at that time under British rule. His mother decided to call her son Bhim. Before the birth, Ramji’s uncle, who was a man living the religious life of a sanyasi, foretold that this son would achieve worldwide fame. His parents already had many children. Despite that, they resolved to make every effort to give him a good education.
Early Life and First School
Two years later, Ramji retired from the army, and the family moved to Dapoli in the Ratnagiri district of Maharashtra, from where they came originally. Bhim was enrolled at school when he was five years old. The whole family had to struggle to live on the small army pension Ramji received.
When some friends found Ramji a job at Satara, things seemed to be looking up for the family, and they moved again. Soon after, however, tragedy struck. Bhimabhai, who had been ill, died. Bhim’s aunt Mira, though she herself was not in good health, took over the care of the children. Ramji read stories from the epics Mahabharata and Ramayana to his children, and sang devotional songs to them. In this way, home life was still happy for Bhim, his brothers and sisters. He never forgot the influence of his father. It taught him about the rich cultural tradition shared by all Indians.
The Shock of Prejudice - Casteism
Bhim began to notice that he and his family were treated differently. At high school he had to sit in the corner of the room on a rough mat, away from the desks of the other pupils. At break-time, he was not allowed to drink water using the cups his fellow school children used. He had to hold his cupped hands out to have water poured into them by the school caretaker. Bhim did not know why he should be treated differently - what was wrong with him?
Once, he and his elder brother had to travel to Goregaon, where their father worked as a cashier, to spend their summer holidays. They got off the train and waited for a long time at the station, but Ramji did not arrive to meet them. The station master seemed kind, and asked them who they were and where they were going. The boys were very well-dressed, clean, and polite. Bhim, without thinking, told him they were Mahars (a group classed as ‘untouchables’). The station master was stunned - his face changed its kindly expression and he went away.
Bhim decided to hire a bullock-cart to take them to their father - this was before motor cars were used as taxis - but the cart-men had heard that the boys were ‘untouchables’, and wanted nothing to do with them. Finally, they had to agree to pay double the usual cost of the journey, plus they had to drive the cart themselves, while the driver walked beside it. He was afraid of being polluted by the boys, because they were ‘untouchables’. However, the extra money persuaded him that he could have his cart ‘purified’ later! Throughout the journey, Bhim thought constantly about what had happened - yet he could not understand the reason for it. He and his brother were clean and neatly dressed. Yet they were supposed to pollute and make unclean everything they touched and all that touched them. How could that be possible?
Bhim never forgot this incident. As he grew up, such senseless insults made him realise that what Hindu society called ‘untouchability’ was stupid, cruel, and unreasonable. His sister had to cut his hair at home because the village barbers were afraid of being polluted by an ‘untouchable’. If he asked her why they were ‘untouchables’, she could only answer -that is the way it has always been.” Bhim could not be satisfied with this answer. He knew that -it has always been that way” does not mean that there is a just reason for it - or that it had to stay that way forever. It could be changed.
An Outstanding Scholar
At this time in his young life, with his mother dead, and father working away from the village where Bhim went to school, he had some good fortune. His teacher, though from a ‘high’ caste, liked him a lot. He praised Bhim’s good work and encouraged him, seeing what a bright pupil he was. He even invited Bhim to eat lunch with him - something that would have horrified most high caste Hindus. The teacher also changed Bhim’s last name to Ambedkar - his own name.
When his father decided to remarry, Bhim was very upset - he still missed his mother so much. Wanting to run away to Bombay, he tried to steal his aunt’s purse. When at last he managed to get hold of it, he found only one very small coin. Bhim felt so ashamed. He put the coin back and made a vow to himself to study very hard and to become independent.
Soon he was winning the highest praise and admiration from all his teachers. They urged Ramji to get the best education fro his son Bhim. So Ramji moved with his family to Bombay. They all had to live in just one room, in an area where the poorest of the poor lived, but Bhim was able to go to Elphinstone High School - one of the best schools in all of India.
In their one room everyone and everything was crowed together and the streets outside were very noisy. Bhim went to sleep when he got home from school. Then his father would wake him up at two o’clock in the morning! Everything was quiet then - so he could do his homework and study in peace.
In the big city, where life was more modern than in the villages, Bhim found that he was still called an ‘untouchable’ and treated as if something made him different and bad - even at his famous school.
One day, the teacher called him up to the blackboard to do a sum. All the other boys jumped up and made a big fuss. Their lunch boxes were stacked behind the blackboard - they believed that Bhim would pollute the food! When he wanted to learn Sanskrit, the language of the Hindu holy scriptures, he was told that it was forbidden for ‘untouchables’ to do so. He had to study Persian instead - but he taught himself Sanskrit later in life.
Matriculation and Marriage
In due course, Bhim passed his Matriculation Exam. He had already come to the attention of some people interested in improving society. So when he passed the exam, a meeting was arranged to congratulate him - he was the first ‘untouchable’ from his community to pass it.
Bhim was then 17 years old. Early marriage was common in those days, so he was married to Ramabai the same year. He continued to study hard and passed the next Intermediate examination with distinction. However, Ramji found himself unable to keep paying the school fees. Through someone interested in his progress, Bhim was recommended to the Maharaja Gaekwad of Baroda. The Maharaja granted him a monthly scholarship. With the help of this, Bhimrao (‘rao’ is added to names in Maharashtra as a sign of respect) passed his B.A. in 1912. Then he was given a job in the civil service - but only two weeks after starting, he had to rush home to Bombay. Ramji was very ill, and died soon afterwards. He had done all he could for his son, laying the foundations for Bhimrao’s later achievements.
Studies in the USA and the UK
The Maharaja of Baroda had a scheme to send a few outstanding scholars abroad for further studies. Of course, Bhimrao was selected - but he had to sign an agreement to serve Baroda state for ten years on finishing his studies.
In 1913, he went to the USA where he studied at the world-famous Columbia University, New York. The freedom and equality he experienced in America made a very strong impression on Bhimrao. It was so refreshing for him to be able to live a normal life, free from the caste prejudice of India. He could do anything he pleased - but devoted his time to studying. He studied eighteen hours a day. Visits to bookshops were his favourite entertainment!
His main subjects were Economics and Sociology. In just two years he had been awarded an M.A. - the following year he completed his Ph.D. thesis. Then he left Columbia and went to England, where he joined the London School of Economics. However, he had to leave London before completing his course because the scholarship granted by the State of Baroda expired. Bhimrao had to wait three years before he could return to London to complete his studies.
Return to India – Nightmare in Baroda
So he was called back to India to take up a post in Baroda as agreed. He was given an excellent job in the Baroda Civil Service. Bhimrao now held a doctorate, and was being trained for a top job. Yet, he again ran into the worst features of the Hindu caste system. This was all the more painful, because for the past four years he had been abroad, living free from the label of ‘untouchable.’
No one at the office where he worked would hand over files and papers to him - the servant threw them onto his desk. Nor would they give him water to drink. No respect was given to him, merely because of his caste.
He had to go from hotel to hotel looking for a room, but none of them would take him in. At last he had found a place to live in a Parsi guest house, but only because he had finally decided to keep his caste secret.
He lived there in very uncomfortable conditions, in a small bedroom with a tiny cold-water bathroom attached. He was totally alone there with no one to talk to. There were no electric lights or even oil lamps - so the place was completely dark at night.
Bhimrao was hoping to find somewhere else to live through his civil service job, but before he could, one morning as he was leaving for work a gang of angry men carrying sticks arrived outside his room. They accused him of polluting the hotel and told him to get out by evening - or else! What could he do? He could not stay with either of the two acquaintances he had in Baroda for the same reason - his low caste. Bhimrao felt totally miserable and rejected.
Bombay – Beginning Social Activity
He had no choice. After only eleven days in his new job, he had to return to Bombay. He tried to start a small business there, advising people about investments - but it too failed once customers learned of his caste.
In 1918, he became a lecturer at Sydenham College in Bombay. There, his students recognised him as a brilliant teacher and scholar. At this time he also helped to found a Marathi newspaper ‘Mook Nayak’ (Leader of the Dumb) to champion the cause of the ‘untouchables’. He also began to organise and attend conferences, knowing that he had to begin to proclaim and publicise the humiliations suffered by the Dalits - ‘the oppressed’ - and fight for equal rights. His own life had taught him the necessity of the struggle for emancipation.
Completion of Education – Leader of India’s Untouchables
In 1920, with the help of friends, he was able to return to London to complete his studies in Economics at LSE. He also enrolled to study as a Barrister at Gray’s Inn. In 1923, Bhimrao returned to India with a Doctorate in Economics from the LSE - he was perhaps the first Indian to have a Doctorate from this world-famous institution. He had also qualified as a Barrister-at-Law.
Back in India, he knew that nothing had changed. His qualifications meant nothing as far as the practice of Untouchability was concerned - it was still an obstacle to his career. However, he had received the best education anyone in the world could get, and was well equipped to be a leader of the Dalit community. He could argue with and persuade the best minds of his time on equal terms. He was an expert on the law, and could give convincing evidence before British commissions as an eloquent and gifted speaker. Bhimrao dedicated the rest of his life to his task.
He became known by his increasing number of followers - those ‘untouchables’ he urged to awake - as Babasaheb. Knowing the great value and importance of education, in 1924 he founded an association called Bahiskrit Hitakarini Sabha. This set up hostels, schools, and free libraries. To improve the lives of Dalits, education had to reach everyone. Opportunities had to be provided at grass roots level - because knowledge is power.
Leading Peaceful Agitation
In 1927 Babasaheb presided over a conference at Mahad in Kolaba District. There he said: -It is time we rooted out of our minds the ideas of high and low. We can attain self-elevation only if we learn self-help and regain our self-respect.”
Because of his experience of the humiliation and injustice of untouchability, he knew that justice would not be granted by others. Those who suffer injustice must secure justice for themselves.
The Bombay Legislature had already passed a Bill allowing everyone to use public water tanks and wells. (We have seen how Bhim was denied water at school, in his office, and at other places. Public water facilities were always denied to ‘untouchables’ because of the superstitious fear of ‘pollution.’)
Mahad Municipality had thrown open the local water tank four years earlier, but so far not one ‘untouchable’ had dared to drink or draw water from it. Babasaheb led a procession from the Conference on a peaceful demonstration to the Chowdar Tank. He knelt and drank water from it. After he set this example, thousands of others felt courageous enough to follow him. They drank water from the tank and made history. For many hundreds of years, ‘untouchables’ had been forbidden to drink public water.
When some caste Hindus saw them drinking water, they believed the tank had been polluted and violently attacked the Conference, but Babasaheb insisted violence would not help - he had given his word that they would agitate peacefully.
Babasaheb started a Marathi journal Bahishkrit Bharat (‘The Excluded of India’). In it, he urged his people to hold a satyagraha (non-violent agitation) to secure the right of entry to the Kala Ram Temple at Nasik. ‘untouchables’ had always been forbidden to enter Hindu temples. The demonstration lasted for a month. Then they were told they would be able to take part in the annual temple festival. However, at the festival they had stones thrown at them - and were not allowed to take part. Courageously, they resumed their peaceful agitation. The temple had to remain closed for about a year, as they blocked its entrance.
Round Table Conferences – Gandhi
Meanwhile, the Indian Freedom Movement had gained momentum under the leadership of Mahatma Gandhi. In 1930, a Round Table Conference was held by the British Government in London to decide the future of India. Babasaheb represented the ‘untouchables’. He said there: -The Depressed Classes of India also join in the demand for replacing the British Government by a Government of the people and by the people... Our wrongs have remained as open sores and have not been righted although 150 years of British rule have rolled away. Of what good is such a Government to anybody?”
Soon a second conference was held, which Mahatma Gandhi attended representing the Congress Party. Babasaheb met Gandhi in Bombay before they went to London. Gandhi told him that he had read what Babasaheb said at the first conference. Gandhi told Babasaheb he knew him to be a real Indian patriot.
At the Second Conference, Babasaheb asked for a separate electorate for the Depressed Classes. -Hinduism”, he said, -has given us only insults, misery, and humiliation.” A separate electorate would mean that the ‘untouchables’ would vote for their own candidates and be allotted their votes separate from the Hindu majority.
Babasaheb was made a hero by thousands of his followers on his return from Bombay - even though he always said that people should not idolise him. News came that separate electorates had been granted. Gandhi felt that separate electorates would separate the Harijans from the Hindus. The thought that the Hindus would be divided pained him grievously. He started a fast, saying that he would fast unto death.
Only Babasaheb could save Gandhi’s life - by withdrawing the demand for separate electorates. At first he refused, saying it was his duty to do the best he could for his people - no matter what. Later he visited Gandhi, who was at that time in Yeravda jail. Gandhi persuaded Babasaheb that Hinduism would change and leave its bad practices behind. Finally Babasaheb agreed to sign the Poona Pact with Gandhi in 1932. Instead of separate electorates, more representation was to be given to the Depressed Classes. However, it later became obvious that this did not amount to anything concrete.
In the Prime of His Life
Babasaheb had by this time collected a library of over 50,000 books, and had a house named Rajgriha built at Dadar in north Bombay to hold it. In 1935 his beloved wife Ramabai died. The same year he was made Principal of the Government Law College, Bombay.
Also in 1935 a conference of Dalits was held at Yeola. Babasaheb told the conference: -We have not been able to secure the barest of human rights... I am born a Hindu. I couldn’t help it, but I solemnly assure you that I will not die a Hindu.” This was the first time that Babasaheb stressed the importance of conversion from Hinduism for his people - for they were only known as ‘untouchables’ within the fold of Hinduism.
During the Second World War, Babasaheb was appointed Labour Minister by the Viceroy. Yet he never lost contact with his roots - he never became corrupt or crooked. He said that he had been born of the poor and had lived the life of the poor, he would remain absolutely unchanged in his attitudes to his friends and to the rest of the world.
The All-India Scheduled Castes Federation was formed in 1942 to gather all ‘untouchables’ into a united political party.
Architect of the Constitution
After the war Babasaheb was elected to the Constituent Assembly to decide the way jthat India - a country of millions of people - should be ruled. How should elections take place? What are the rights of the people? How are laws to be made? Such important matters had to be decided and laws had to be made. The Constitution answers all such questions and lays down rules.
When India became independent in August 1947, Babasaheb Ambedkar became First Law Minister of Independent India. The Constituent Assembly made him chairman of the committee appointed to draft the constitution for the world’s largest democracy.
All his study of law, economics, and politics made him the best qualified person for this task. A study of the Constitutions of many countries, a deep knowledge of law, a knowledge of the history of India and of Indian Society - all these were essential. In fact, he carried the whole burden alone. He alone could complete this huge task.
After completing the Draft Constitution, Babasaheb fell ill. At a nursing home in Bombay he met Dr. Sharda Kabir and married her in April 1948. On November 4, 1948 he presented the Draft Constitution to the Constituent Assembly, and on November 26, 1949 it was adopted in the name of the people of India. On that date he said: -I appeal to all Indians to be a nation by discarding castes, which have brought separation in social life and created jealousy and hatred.”
Later Life – Buddhist Conversion
In 1950, he went to a Buddhist conference in Sri Lanka. On his return he spoke in Bombay at the Buddhist Temple. -In order to end their hardships, people should embrace Buddhism. I am going to devote the rest of my life to the revival and spread of Buddhism in India.”
Babasaheb resigned from the Government in 1951. He felt that as an honest man he had no choice but to do so, because the reforms so badly needed had not been allowed to come into being.
For the next five years Babasaheb carried on a relentless fight against social evils and superstitions. On October 14, 1956 at Nagpur he embraced Buddhism. He led a huge gathering in a ceremony converting over half a million people to Buddhism. He knew that Buddhism was a true part of Indian history and that to revive it was to continue India’s best tradition. ‘Untouchability’ is a product only of Hinduism.
Only seven weeks later on December 6, 1956 Babasaheb died at his Delhi residence. His body was taken to Bombay. A two-mile long crowd formed the funeral procession. At Dadar cemetery that evening, eminent leaders paid their last respects to him. The pyre was lit according to Buddhist rites. Half a million people witnessed it.
Thus ended the life of one of India’s greatest sons. His was the task of awakening India’s millions of excluded and oppressed to their human rights. He experienced their suffering and the cruelty shown to them. He overcame the obstacles to stand on an equal footing with the greatest men of his time. He played a vital role in forming modern India through its Constitution.
His work and mission continue today - we must not rest until we see a truly democratic India of equal citizens living in peace together.
180,585 items / 1,421,347 views
into her mind
on his hands
on his feet
round his neck
an animal on heat
now how the fuck
did they meet
his fucked fate
could not cheat
her name on
shivas third eye
shooting the street
or will she
on a misty
180,585 items / 1,421,336 views
this is how it began for me
than i asked you to close your eyes only once and you opened them
breaking the magic.. of the poetry of my new found solace in your soft soothing arms i wanted to hear your purr..but you just brushed my soul with you sensuality your furriness and moved away
and one day you will tire of me i will be just another brick in the wall
a poets mind is a devils workshop
it overworks weaving a carpet
of poetic thoughts does not stop
like monsoonal tears seasonal drops
revolving doors within doors revolving tops
scenic silence moving backdrops
a butchers knife cutting all hopes chop chop
a withered leaf a a pearly tear like a dewdrop
her mind stupidly in levitation as it flip flops
a divine moment of youthfulness tip top
an Indian story teller Aesop a wordsmith
rusty in his ramshackle smithy working
non stop into the soul of her poetry
eavesdrops a moment effervescent
fizzles pops a fiddler serenading
his muse on the rooftop
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