Sunday, January 29, 2012

every man has a pipe dream.. dedicated to the greatest street photographer akbar simonse

more than the camera you need an eye

the selfless soldier on time dabbawalas

the friday namaz on the streets ..

god has destined i shall be a corporate malang for some more time

tum agar sath dene ka wada karo..main yuhin mast naghme sunata rahoon

Photography And Women Just Love It ...

The Hijras In Islam Were Created By Accursed Mauwiyah

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And Did I Not Tell You I Am Always Stalked By Hijras.. Because I Show Them In Good Light


And I met them near Dicky Bazar , they are hijras from a mountain area.. and are Muslims.. and according to Peersaab Kkhru Miya of Hujra no 6 the hijras in Islam were created by accursed Mauwiyah Caliph of the Ummayad Dynasty , he had very pretty daughter so in order to protect them from men who would be guarding them , he had these men castrated Khasis..

The Beggar Poet on the Hijras Trail -The Cloth Slippers of Pain...

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some consider me a holy man, some touch me .. seek my blessings and thereby heal my own wounds and some give me money thinking i am a beggar fakir, i accept it in humility .. i give this money to a more deserving beggar than me ..

they dont know i am a small time stylist they dont know me at all.. and for the first time in many years i dont know if i will once again go to ajmer , i write this as i update this blank post of my taragadh adventures on the hijras trail.


i seek nothng i ask nothing from the holy saints i am devoid of anger , envy i am happy with the water i drink from a beggar bowl that has a hole in it, it quenches the thirst of mother earth who sustains me..i am a follower of ali lover of hussain...

i am a shiva bhakt i shoot ganesh durga i walk in the shadow of christ...

i live with naga sadhus i have lived with aghoris i am very close to the hijra ascetic monks , and the spiritual cross dressers called sada suhagins..

now at the age of 59 i am learning photography from two gifted kids related to me by blood , one 4 years old the other 6 month old .. they teach me that the cosmic eye is what shoots the unseen...they have complete control over my destiny and the karmic soul of my camera .

my 4 year old grand daughter marziya is not a malang this she emphasizes time and again , after i leave for work.. she will take the imaginary dagger in her hands and start slashing her head than she will tell my wife to tie her head ..and to hold it with both hands to stop the bleeding .. than she will tell my wife to untie the bandage and giving her an imaginary camera ask her to take a picture .. she mimics my life style .. and this is the child i taught to unlearn photography with her eyes in a blindfold and shoot the light at the end of the tunnel..

6 month old nerjis asif shakir is the malang in my family she me and the camera we grow on each others soul.. she knows the nikon d80.. she knows its power and her power over it and i have forced the camera on her child's cosmic consciousness ..i know she will be a great photographer because photography is not just a science of the inner soul it is the life breath of our cosmic inheritance... we dont merely shoot pictures we miraculously recreate gods beauty in the ugliness of our surroundings .. yes we are both malangs street photographers ..nerjis and me .. marziya is only a photographer but she is a gifted artist too..

i am missing both of them..

My Adventures in Prose Poetry Wont Ever Cease Through The Lens of My Camera I Search For Peace



i have no master
just my soul
to please
a sentinel
of sorrow
i stand outside
the gates of
my destiny
enslaved
to my deleted
dreams
clinging to hope
moving thoughts
i freeze
wingless
i soar
a tenant
on this planet
my house
on lease
a beggar poet
asking
forgiveness
on bent knees
a warrior goddess
who shows
no mercy
blinded
with arrogance
pride vanity
truth
love honesty
my virtues
she cannot see
my muse
my beggar bowl
some alms
as charity
disillusioned
demoralized
on the carcass
on my lost
memories
i stand and pee
passion
pathos
my poetry

being a madman myself i spot madmen easily..

jaise tadpe bin jal machhli pyaar mujhe tadpaata hai

jin raaho par hanske chalo tum phool wahaan khil jaate hai
dam lene ko jahaan ruko tum madhushaale ban jaate hai
tumko chhu kar pawan jhakore khushboo lekar jaate hai
lekin hum to dekh ke surat dil thaame reh jaate hai
dil thaame reh jaate hai
dil se dil ke taar mila lo aye mere humraahi
tumko kya batlaau main ke tumse kitna pyaar hai

raste ke kute re - tere dard na jane koie..

living in the lap of the streets ..what one man throws out another man eats ..

but fucked fate
the cosmic circle
of confusion
he cant cheat
the spirit was willing
his hope in retreat
death standing
on two feet
a file time
will defeat
destroy
ultimately
delete
a journey
incomplete

we treat terrorist on death row better than our dogs

i can change myself .. at any given time

The Beggar Poet of Bandra

because we work very had we are called indians

we indians are born supermen...

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i have nothing much to say...i shoot what would otherwise would whither away..

my poetry passion pathos my soul made of clay..

gandhiji accompanies me wherever i go..