what i see is not what i shoot my street children silent mute through my poems to their unfortunate mothers i pay tribute born to beg trampled by the richmans boots my street children beautifully ugly hardly cute in natures broken basket wasted fruits i shoot reality i shoot truth i shoot lost childhood wasted youth
Mother at Fourteen, a photo by firoze shakir photographerno1 on Flickr. Her swollen undeveloped nipples a little childs mouth to wean .. tragedy and trauma of a child mother vandalized virginity motherhood at fourteen she once sold our national flag on Independence day at Turner Road Traffic Signal near St Peters Church gates was seen This year she had company Of her new born child Breathing selling Freedom A dead quality A dead virtue In real Life good things remain unseen quite a common scene Life on the other side Of Promiscuity Is not always green She was gang raped One by one drunken louts mauled and mangled by teenagers tough and mean her bad luck no one did intervene I asked her why did you not go to the cops ? She looked at me in shock Sadness and said Uncle they were my brothers And my cousins how could I spill the beans? What about your parents I asked Oh they beat me ..but having babies is not obscene A baby brings in more money , rented out A life on the streets quite routine C…
the baby on hire lost her human right the night before her world turned old before she was born her drunken father impregnated her mothers hole thereby destroying the dreams the innocence of this tiny soul dear monsoon lover childhood born in captivity is nothing but hot burning embers of charcoal fuck forget ' the only goal flesh as commodity on our streets is openly sold.. as it rains brittle bones feel cold my beloved india my mother land its pain its sufferings behold
Bastard Dont Shoot My Picture, a photo by firoze shakir photographerno1 on Flickr. He is an Anglo Indian man , a street dweller , he lives off the streets, penury poverty reduces man to a speck on the pavement , everybody sees him , but it is Xmas time no one has time for him , or his lack luster existence , I shot this before wishing him Merry Xmas and he hit back with filth and foul words, not that it bothers me , but its a sad state I owe my upbringing to my life spent with Anglos..most important was the Rhubottom family..a very cultured family that lives at Strand Cinema with their members in UK America and Canada..
I knew Allan Gill a great friend and dress designer , he touched us all but than was in a big rush to get back home on the other side of no man land..he died in misery too and it was my other nice friend Bipin Tanna who took care of him till he breathed his last.
I start a new intense series at Flickr , Moharam in Hyderabad 2009.
I have cut my head in most of the cities of India , but Hyderabad is a city I will never forget , as a Shia and as a photographer blogging pain.
I arrived barefeet in Hyderabad on 8 Moharam .. I stayed for a single day at Hotel Charminar , at Dewan Deodhi close to the Bargah of Hazrat Abbas.
I left the hotel the same day a friend Naqi bhai put me up in his house as it is close to the other Dargah of Hazrat Abbas called Choti Bargah..where I have a lot of dear friends well wishers , specially the kids who were there taking care of my simple needs tea and water..
I must mention no cooking takes place in a Shia Darga or at a persons house for 10 days food comes as Niyaz and there is far too much of it, it is spread around.
I met my dear patron Nawab Shariyar Saab and his family at Shariyar Palace…
I am happy that you acknowledge the contribution of the youngest Indiblogger and I blog simply that I might make others move their mouse besides their sedentary couch potato ass , and in all humility I am waiting in the wings .. so to speak.. the camera and the laptop a new world I seek..blessed are the meek.. our world showcases the pain of the weak..bareefeet on the ground vision at its peak..