Monday, April 30, 2012

I Bleed and With Every Stroke Of My Dagger I Curse Yazid

Freedom of the Press ...A Shia In Black Dress ..

We Think Same ...

If You are a Grand Father You Will Know What I Feel

from my children s
garden
a few loving moments
with fruits
of his joy i steal
for me by a
generous god
a lavish meal
she shoots me
i shoot them
together
the world
we heal
we are spokes
of a humble
cosmic wheel

3 Street Photographers .. Past Present Future

My Grand Kids Seek The Blessings of Mr Rajesh Khanna My Mentor

My Grand Children Were Once On Facebook..

Ruth Canonico
6:39 AM (32 minutes ago)

to me

Dear Brother Firoze,
It has been a long while since I have written to you, but I often think of you and your beautiful and moving photographs of the life of the diverse people of Mumbai Tonight, Iam watching a visit Oprah Winfrey made to India and she is jsut now in Vrindavan, 'City of Widows'.
Of course it is obvious that someone with the position of Oprah, she would ahve been offered the best of experiences, but I give her credit for wanting to visit the people who live in cramped homes of one room and share a buket shower and latrines in Mumbai, and now in this city where 16,000 widows live on the streets.
Of course she also goes to big parties and meets improtant and wealthy people, but it just shows the marked contrasts in your country, Firoze.
I love seeing your photos of your beautiful grandchildren and also the ones of your street living friends and people on the fringes of society.
May allah continue to blesss you and your family always,
Peace,June-Ruth
'Gypsy'

Nerjis Asif Shakir Walks Down Memory Lane

Nerjis Asif Shakir 9 month old goes to meet and be blessed by Mr Rajesh Khanna my patron my guide and my mentor of Bollywood...

My Grand Daughter Marziya Shakir Steals My Soul on the Canon EOS 60D

Marziya Shakir 4 Year Old Shoots Me on The Canon EOS 60D

Four Year Old Marziya Shakirs First Shot On The Canon EOS 60D

I shot her
on the 7D
she shot me
quite competently
on the 60 D
grand father
grand daughter
both shoot
the dregs
of humanity
live and lets
be free
from racism
narrow mindedness
shallowness bigotry
make a new world
possible shooting
pictures as poetry

Raju And Shyam of Reliable Stores Fort

To Marziya Shakir Worlds Youngest Street Photographer With Love

The Desire To Live Died When She Buried Me In The Dead Poets Cemetery

hastily she
wrapped me in a
bleeding shroud
hid my half breathing
half dead body
from the mourning
crowds hijras eunuchs
malangs beggars
weeping head bowed
google+friend
jack c crawford
flew in from
america
fields of frienship
we had ploughed
at the dead poets
cemetery
read a board
photography
strictly
not allowed
the heartless
woman who left
me for crying
out loud
googledrive
drop in cloud

The Bandgala With a 12 Meter Pajama .. Dam Madar Beda Par

Sunday, April 29, 2012

The Dabbawalas of Mumbai

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

A dabbawala (Marathi: डबेवाला); also spelled as dabbawalla or dabbawallah; literally meaning ("box person"), is a person in India, most commonly found in the city of Mumbai, who is employed in a unique service industry whose primary business is collecting freshly cooked food in lunch boxes from the residences of the office workers (mostly in the suburbs), delivering it to their respective workplaces and returning the empty boxes back to the customer's residence by using various modes of transport. "Tiffin" is an old-fashioned English word for a light lunch or afternoon snack, and sometimes, by extension, for the box it is carried in. For this reason, the dabbawalas are sometimes called Tiffin Wallahs.

The word "Dabbawala" in Marathi when literally translated, means "one who carries a box". "Dabba" means a box (usually a cylindrical tin or aluminium container), while "wala" is a suffix, denoting a doer or holder of the preceding word.[1] The closest meaning of the Dabbawala in English would be the "lunch box delivery man". Though this profession seems to be simple, it is actually a highly specialized service in Mumbai which is over a century old and has become integral to the cultural life of this city.
The concept of the dabbawala originated when India was under British rule. Many British people who came to the colony did not like the local food, so a service was set up to bring lunch to these people in their workplace straight from their home. Nowadays, although Indian business men are the main customers for the dabbawalas, increasingly affluent families employ them instead for lunch delivery to their school-aged children. Even though the services provided might include cooking, it primarily consists of only delivery either home-made or in that latter case, food ordered from a restaurant.
[edit]The Nutan Mumbai Tiffin Box Suppliers Trust
This service was originated in 1880. In 1890, Mahadeo Havaji Bachche, started a lunch delivery service with about 100 men.[2] In 1930, he informally attempted to unionize the dabbawallas. Later a charitable trust was registered in 1956 under the name of Nutan Mumbai Tiffin Box Suppliers Trust. The commercial arm of this trust was registered in 1968 as Mumbai Tiffin Box Supplier's Association. The present President of the association is Sopan Laxman Mare. Nowadays, the service often includes cooking of foods in addition to the delivery.

Mumbai is a very densely populated city of millions with huge flows of traffic. Because of this, lengthy commutes to workplaces are common, with many workers traveling by train.
Instead of going home for lunch or paying for a meal in a café, many office workers have a cooked meal sent either from their home, or sometimes from a caterer who essentially cooks and delivers the meal in lunch boxes and then have the empty lunch boxes collected and re-sent the same day. This is usually done for a monthly fee, for about 2 pounds. The meal is cooked in the morning and sent in lunch boxes carried by dabbawalas, who have a complex association and hierarchy across the city.


Dabbawalas in action at a Mumbai Suburban Railway station.
A collecting dabbawala, usually on bicycle, collects dabbas either from a worker's home or from the dabba makers. As many of the carriers are illiterate, the dabbas have some sort of distinguishing mark on them, such as a colour or group of symbols.
The dabbawala then takes them to a designated sorting place, where he and other collecting dabbawalas sort (and sometimes bundle) the lunch boxes into groups. The grouped boxes are put in the coaches of trains, with markings to identify the destination of the box (usually there is a designated car for the boxes). The markings include the rail station to unload the boxes and the building address where the box has to be delivered.
At each station, boxes are handed over to a local dabbawala, who delivers them. The empty boxes, after lunch, are again collected and sent back to the respective houses.
Appearance and coding


Markings: (1) abbreviations for collection points, (2) colour code for starting station, (3) number for destination station and (4) markings for handling dabbawala at destination, building and floor.[3]


A typical dabbawala lunch.


It was estimated in 2007 that the dabbawala industry was still growing by 5-10% per annum.[4]
Although the service remains essentially low-tech, with the barefoot delivery men as the prime movers, the dabbawalas have started to embrace technology, and now allow booking for delivery through SMS.[5] An on-line poll on the web site ensures that customer feedback is given pride of place. The success of the system depends on teamwork and time management. Such is the dedication and commitment of the barely literate and barefoot delivery men (there are only a few delivery women) who form links in the extensive delivery chain, that there is no system of documentation at all. A simple colour coding system doubles as an ID system for the destination and recipient. There are no multiple elaborate layers of management either — just three layers. Each dabbawala is also required to contribute a minimum capital in kind, in the form of two bicycles, a wooden crate for the tiffins, white cotton kurta-pyjamas, and the white trademark Gandhi cap (topi). The return on capital is ensured by monthly division of the earnings of each unit.
[edit]Uninterrupted services
The service is almost always uninterrupted, even on the days of severe weather such as monsoons. The local dabbawalas and population know each other well, and often form bonds of trust. Dabbawalas are generally well accustomed to the local areas they cater to, and use shortcuts and other low profile routes to deliver their goods on time. Occasionally, people communicate between home and work by putting messages inside the boxes; however, with the rise of instant communication such as SMS and instant messaging, this trend is vanishing.
[edit]Economic analysis

Each dabbawala, regardless of role, gets paid about two to four thousand rupees per month (around £25–50 or US$40–80).[6]
In 2002, Forbes Magazine found its reliability to be that of a six sigma standard. More than 175,000 to 200,000 lunch boxes get moved every day by an estimated 4,500 to 5,000 dabbawalas, all with an extremely small nominal fee and with utmost punctuality. According to a recent survey, they make less than one mistake in every 6 million deliveries, despite most of the delivery staff being illiterate.[7]
The BBC has produced a documentary on dabbawalas, and Prince Charles, during his visit to India, visited them (he had to fit in with their schedule, since their timing was too precise to permit any flexibility). Prince Charles also invited them to his wedding with Camilla Parker Bowles in London on 9 April 2005. Owing to the tremendous publicity, some of the dabbawalas were invited to give guest lectures in some of the top business schools of India, which is very unusual. Most remarkably in the eyes of many Westerners, the success of the dabbawala trade has involved no advanced technology,[8] except for trains (and as mentioned above, SMS services for booking).
The New York Times reported in 2007 that the 125-year-old dabbawala industry continues to grow at a rate of 5–10% per year.[4]
[edit]Awards and recognition
ISO 9001:2000 certified by the Joint Accreditation System of Australia and New Zealand [9]

used abused thrown out on the streets ...fucked womans day i repeat



man needs
to fuck any women
on two legs
when he comes
on heat
the cock too needs
something to eat
woman once used
abused
is a file so easy
to delete
her tits
her clit
her twat
fuck
who cares a shit
for her heartbeat
woman was made
as a commodity
by a macho male god
no soul flesh
in a winding sheet
woman fragemented
incomplete this is a general
thought not of the beggar poet
who with other poets
photographers
does not compete
a shit head shooting
society scum
barefeet the eunuchs whores
beggars hijras spawned
by mother earth in defeat

used abused thrown out on the streets ...fucked womans day i repeat

in india women are treated as goddess or piece of shit..

beggars are the only indigenous export from India nobody wants

Sometimes Honestly I Dont Know Why I Shoot What I Shoot


my pictures talk
to me but i go mute
they sometimes
reprimand me
courteous
i wont refute
here i saw
two guys
a babe
very cute
dichotomous
beaut
a part of
her tanned
the other
part faded
bag of jute
falling
in love
with women
is jumping
from the
empire state
building
without a
parachute
in your
birthday suit
suicidal pursuit
i also tried
falling in love
with a transvestite
all was fine
till one day
she showed me
her erect offshoot
a new thought
took root i gave
her up now
i am celibate
single happy
i simply
google+
compute
no problems
no dispute
though
i am open
if i do get a
new nubile
recruit
with ample
of fruits
top heavy
not hirsute
of good family
background
my love
wont dilute
my next poem
to her will
be my lasting
tribute

for fuck sake dont ask me if i steal souls when i shoot ...on my multi colored ass a signature collection of my past ladies boots ..

I Prefer The Canon EOS 7D It gives depth of space to my Pictures


And it shoots faster than I think ..

Mother The Whole World Knows Us Now ..



we are
beggars
on the soul
of humanity
thank you all
we take a bow
we are poorer
than the poorest
our worth
far too little
as compared
to the sacrificial
goat or the holy cow
we are fatalists
we live for now
with begging
our empty stomach
we plough
we were born
dreamless
we bless you
for every coin
you give us
may god give
you the golden
laden bough
no we wont
ever return to
this karmic
world of
inhumanity
pain suffering
we take a vow

i have taken poetic liberty muslims dont believe in reincarnation or karma ..

Mother Why Are You Crying Again..When I Grow Up I Will Change Your World

I Shoot Mothers Day Every Day On The Streets In Bandra

Muslims Actually Hate Beggars They Give The Community a Bad Name

Mother And The Bleeding Cosmic Wheel of Pain

If Wishes Were Beggars Than Horses Would Hide

Mother I Finally Understood Why You Cover Your Face ..

Mother When Can I Go Home And Play ...

Mother Why Is He Stealing Our Souls ..

Even God Cant Save You If You Are A Muslim Beggar

230,434 items / 1,936,045 views

Muslim society promotes beggary, because for charity to take form a a godly virtue you need a recipient for making it work.. so enter the beggars and giving a few coins before and after the Friday prayers an extra bonus .. to mans salvation.

And Muslims who see this on the streets are immune to her pain , hypocritically they will discuss every issue under the sun save the issue of rehabilitating the poor, buying a rich fat goat for sacrifice is more important to appease God than feeding educating the poor.


And the rich Arab states are paying for their sins against Man.. and Terrorism is nothing new in Islam the Holy Prophets progeny was always terrorized killed massacred , brutally eliminated so history is there to testify against their lust for power temporal greed and excesses.. if I talk much on this topic it would be considered Shiaspeak..

But killing persecution inhuman treatment is part of Islamic society there is no escape and for the Muslim beggar woman who waits every Friday on the path that leads to my work there is no escape either .. she knows I will give her generously and shoot her pictures to share her pain with the rest of the world..

What is her name ? Wheres does she stay? What does her husband do ? Is he a beggar too? I wont ask, she is a Sunni that I know .. the Shias The Bohras Khojas and a few Muslim sects try to help remove this disparity .. the majority Muslim society has no time ... proselytizing neo Islam in its rich Wahabbi content .. making more Muslims is more important than saving those languishing forever in misery.

As a photographer poet blogger my photography has a purpose I shoot pain on the streets this is the genre I have chosen as a documentarist.. I cant and wont shoot happy faces , sunsets mountain tops and wild life..no not even insects and converging lines ..

Muslim Beggars of India is my set here at Flickr.com I have shot all over India the few places I have visited on my rare trips .. I dont sell my pictures and my stories dont make it as headlines in newspapers I only shoot what God wanted me to shoot , my 4 year old grand daughter shoots the very same things I shoot .. things that spoil your day .. make you throw up.. well you can go on complaining we will go on shooting..

And Mothers Day.. the Muslim mother celebrates it everyday..

I Am Aging Gracefully

Behind Every Crazy Man Lies A Sane Woman

An Ode To My Great Father In Law

inspired by my friend Jack.. C Crawford

it is the father in law
with his chutzpah
who adds hope
humanity
to our married life
with all
its flaws
he balances
the marital seesaw
before we
get mauled
by the mother
in law
she loves
her daughter
more than
the son outlaw
before we
met our wives
it was her mother
we saw
with the rolling pin
in one hand
in the other
hand
the hacksaw

a fun rhyme
with malice to none
to my mother in law
i am her best one

Both my parents are dead and it is my in laws I consider mother and father , initially they were not willing to give me their daughter ..I was 25 with a salary of Rs750 .. I drank , I had a roving eye .. I was crazy too.. but they gave in and I am married for 35 years now ..thanks to them I became a good person I think so..

I am on Google+

brioni

brioni by firoze shakir photographerno1
brioni, a photo by firoze shakir photographerno1 on Flickr.

The Rich Mans Soul Lies In His Wallet

Sometimes It Is Nice To Know What It Feels To Wear Rich Clothes

Clothes Do Not Maketh A Man Humility Does ..Gods Naked Truth

I am the Corporate Malang of Mumbai

Man Can Live Without Fashion But Not Without Style

Distorted Dilemma Of Deleted Dreams

PEOPLE WHO LIVE IN GLASS HOUSES BREAK EASILY

She Locked Me Out And Threw The Keys In The Arabian Sea

Your Suit Is Incomplete Without The Poche

The Touch of Class

She Blocked Me Deleted Me And Stole My Dreams

I am a beggar who lives his dreams in silence ..stealthily shot by jj

I stole the soul of this pianist ...

230,385 items / 1,935,755 views

as she moved
her red nail
polished fingers
rolled her wrist
to shoot
her capture
the sound of her
music on your ears
i could not resist
on the poetry
of your consciousness
she now exists
feathery wispy
emotional
whispering
sensations
my camera kissed