photo courtesy google images
Benn Bell says: (5 hours ago)
Your pictures are like wordless poems
Your critics are like dickless whores!
My pictures they don’t see
My text pictureless poems
Which I post at Flickr Word Press
Bloggerspot and Ipernity
My critics racists
Dickless whores
Pedants trafficking comments
Ghouls eating into the flesh
Of poetry
An old retired
Starched the other a pederast Aussie
Another an ass as well as horsey
Adding fuel to fire
Pandering poetic controversy
as a footnote at the feet of my
poetic rendering their uric hate
come and pee
with their women supporters
cheerleaders
burning the brown bastard
in Madras Masala Curry
hate is a dish
served piping hot
full of calorie
Friday, January 6, 2012
wordless poem dickless whores
The Corporate Malang of Mumbai
to his old clothes
says good bye
you live even after you die
held as memory between
earth and sky under
the bower hands
folded you lie
positive
not camera shy
a member
of the dead poets society
corporate malang of mumbai
Thank You Mr Subramaniam Swamy and DNA On Carving Hate on the Soul of Indian Muslim
Thank You Mr Subramaniam Swamy and DNA On Carving Hate on the Soul of Indian Muslim, a photo by firoze shakir photographerno1 on Flickr.
As an Indian Muslim a blogger with 200000 images at Flickr.com , I am in pain ever since I read the hate filled venomous piece in DNA on the Muslims of India and I think possibly the DNA editor perhaps hates Indian Muslims too , to have allowed such an article as freedom of speech..
I wont glorify my humility it would shame me but I shoot Hinduism promote it as Hope and Hindutva ..over 35000 images of Hindu feasts festivals and I follow Lalbagh Chya Raja barefeet to document the asmita of all Mumbaikars ..
I hate DNA more than Subramaniam Swamy is only an understatement and I hate Indian politics that allows such people to thrive on hate and the Judiciary I respect bow my head to that turns a blind eye to such dangerous anti India thoughts .
God Save My Motherland from such bigots and the soul of Man from a newspaper like DNA ..
I took a two years subscription so it comes home an unwelcome guest...
I threw the Times of India for its editorial headline on the Babri Mosque verdict that bought our pain sacrifice as a goal result I lost my home during the riots at Khar Danda and today I promote Peace Hope Harmony as a Blogger .. .. I would not bring either the Times of India or Mumbai Mirror to my home even if it was given free.
I subscribe to Hindustan Times too .. I have no problem with them as a reader ..
Being a blogger I think Media is out to make money at the expense of yesterdays news .. blogs post what has yet to come .. blog is light in a dark end tunnel of despair ..
optional title
Why I hate DNA more than Subramaniam Swamy
Tum Meri Zindagi Ki Tasveer Kyon Khichna Chahte Ho
Tum Meri Zindagi Ki Tasveer Kyon Khichna Chahte Ho, a photo by firoze shakir photographerno1 on Flickr.
153,057 items / 1,190,019 views
mera chehre
mere bura waqt
duniya ko kyon
dikhana chahate ho
main ek bhuli bhisri
hui awaz waqt ke
takaze main giraftar
meri majburiyan
mere halat aurat zat
tum meri zindagi
ki tasvir kyon
khichna chahte ho
main raste ki mauj
pe takraie hui kishti
tum mujhe kyon bachana
chahte ho lafzon
ki jugalbandi main
kyon phasana chahte ho
main bhi tumhare
bure waqt ki
pehchan hoon
yeh tum
kyon bhool jate ho
The Beggar Hijras of Turner Road
As a street photographer shooting the angst of the streets of pain human despair is the genre of my moving images , poetry blogs with or without words.
I am known to most of the hijras of Bandra , most of the beggar hijras from Bandra to Versova know me , and I was once the barefeet beggar poet of Bandra ..
Now I wear Fucked Shoes ..
Begging can be professional or spirituality humility based , and imagine an empty stomach at the mercy of left overs as food , and at the Kumbh I lived with the Naga Sadhus of Junagadh my Naga Guru Shri Vijay Giri Maharaj took me from door to door I begged with them barefeet , and did not carry my camera I was one of them , huddled in a corner a winter chill at Nasik Trimbakeshwar I sat in a corner ate what they ate ..and thanked God for this experience of coming face to face with Hunger a powerful human emotion hunger for food and so much hunger all around ..
I have been close to the hijras at Ajmer and Haji Malang , I saw them beg and this is hijra humility , however rich the hijra begs and what she collects from shopkeepers goes in a pool a langar that feeds the poor of Ajmer at the Urus of Khwajah Garib Nawaz.
Lakshmi of Turner Road is devotee of Lord Ayapa , she is very fond of me , as I have given her sarees trinkets when I had my own workplace down the 28 Road Bandra off Waterfiled Road and now I am once again back on the same road..
Lakshmi Guru beggar hijra in the picture among the traffic is disappointed at not meeting Kim and Viola my friends from Denmark I had told them to pay Rs 500 if and when they took her interview it never happened .Lakshmi will never ask me for money unlike her chelas she knows I am a Dam Madar Malang and she knows I pray for her , some hijras touch my feet in the ricksha.. asking me to pray for them..I do,,,,
Hijras are very powerful personalities complex characters and no ambiguity in their intentions, and I have met so many in life I have lost track, and I meet them in trains and at the crossroads of Life.
I dont run after hijras , I will never run after hijras , but I have the Hijra Vardan I shall meet them , and in some case I can will them to meet me .. as easy as that.
So hijra photography is a thing from within , I shoot hijras as children of a lesser God a god without gender , a god who is nether man nor woman the hijra god of the hijra beggars of the streets .
The upper echelons of prosperous hijra society does not like the exposure of the hijra life online so in most cases a few bigots exist in hijra society too absolutely hating photographers like me .. luckily they can never accuse me of selling my pictures or my hijra stories , and fuck like other of my ilk I am not going to shove a Hijra Coffee Table book up the choked constipated ass of Page 3 denizens .
People like me in India will never be promoted and it has nothing to do with my being a Muslim , publishers dont touch bloggers period .. and bloggers like me definitely cant go under the desk and suck a editor cock..cum what may...I dont know any lady publisher so i cant tell you more on them...
No association of hijras or cultural groups will ever help a blogger in sponsoring camera or help finance his trips .. you have to have fame and acclaim and lick ass to make it to the top..
I am deeply touched by a friend Vesti who gave me a years Pro membership here at Flickr.com..life has not been a bed of roses for me but I am not complaining..
If someone could sponsor me I could go and shoot the Eunuch festival at Koovagam , and show you their lifestyle ..but no such luck.. so I shut my own shop and now work for another person..
I dont know this year if I get to shoot Haji Malang or Ajmer I leave it to Divine Intervention , till that time I shall shoot beggar hijras of Turner Road ..
This Brings To End Holy Namer Reunion 20112
This picture brings to an end my tryst with the past , behind those who stood behind me unseen to them but visible to me was Fr Fx Fernandes Ghost , my alter ego caught in limbo of timelessness and space..
There is an incident I wanted to narrate that took place in the school hall, it was a play that I was one of the contenders actors along with others it was a play called Nefa Ki Ek Shaam, I was playing a Kashmiri freedom fighter and I the judges were beneath the dais , I was supposed to be shot , and the curtain would come down I was ambitious and an establised actor drama founder of my alma mater with Sister Claire ..
I won prizes but this was to be my last performance so the moment I got shot I let our a deathly shriek, and as the curtain came down I held to it and fell of the stairs of the Holy Name stage.
I got the Best Actor award .. so this school hall had many memories of roles I had enacted , and the huge number of prizes I won during Prize Distribution I was a notorious mischievous kid, a rebel but fought for justice equality and I was very good in my studies .. all my life in school I came first along with third or second place going to Ramesh Mulchandani or Dennis Fernandes in South America..
Yes school was real fun..and for my writings that I made into poetry blogs , photo blogs I took inspiration from Gilroy Dsa his sisters are with me in this picture ..
Yes I am an accidental photographer ...I shoot the drama poetry of life .. it touched me now it touches you too..
I Am A Product of a Holy Name
once a barefeet
beggar poet
a hindu shia
a dam madar malang
all human
all the same
to my school
reunion
in oxymoron
haste
hurriedly
i came
no rings
no turban
no chunky
jewellery
what a shame
life is light within
shadows
of a cosmic game
from the cradle
to the tomb
only honor to reclaim
shooting
naga sadhus hijras
my notoriety to fame
on good friday
14 stations of the cross
with jesus i walk
barefeet
a poet lame
hope humanity
peace pathos poetry
my only aim
my age old anger
my volatile nature
a reformed alcoholic
the demon within me
with prayers
i did tame
for what you are
you and only you
are to blame
a good school
gave me good
grounding solidity
of soulful purpose
respect within
my fathers name
Sometimes I Am Called Firoze Mulchandani
I was bought up by Ramesh and Kishnis parents I owe it to their parents my growth in life as a sensitive humanbeing..
Once We Were Called The Tinpot School..Now With Envy Our Neighbors Drool
Once We Were Called The Tinpot School..Now With Envy Our Neighbors Drool, a photo by firoze shakir photographerno1 on Flickr.
218,827 items / 1,804,799 views
holy name high school
gyan vidya knowledge
ilm paisa vasool
forget bad memories
when fr bozo
made us stand outside
the class on a broken stool
walk dont run
rs 5 fine in 1964
a thought uncool
back gardens where
for a pretty damsel
with the campionites
we fought our duel
what a pity
now the source
of our memories
will soon become
an elitist
swimming pool
sir batli mr joshi
who kept calling me
a faltu fool
mr shanbagh
who drove me like
a castrated mule
bond my name is bond
mr singh who gave us hool
mr pandey was kind
not that cruel
mrs menezies miss india
who would ask
what happens
when a teacher
closes her eyes
merwyn would answer
in a womans voice
teacher is dead
so uber cool
subu sir
maf karte they
hamari galtiyan
aur sari bhool
than the visit
of president
barack obama
changed the rule
first lady dancing
to a koli song
added fire to the fuel
media going
head over heels
prints and spool
neighbors envy
owners pride
our homely school
memories moments
on a roller coaster ride
ups downs
rise fall
caught in a nostalgic
whirlpool
those who called
us tinpot
sare ke saron
ka dabba gool
apna school
now reads a board
admission
houseful
no donations
no kickbacks
a poetic thought
in a globule
dedicated to mrs moses my class teacher
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