Thursday, October 3, 2013

The Lost Maiden At Chor Bazar

from her
home lost
in the strange
city of illusions
in an urban maze
called chor bazar
searching for hope
she looked afar
her once fragile
alabaster body
painfully scarred
her inherent
beauty intact
life was hard
she looked
up at the heavens
what next on
the cards,..

she and her ward

St Josephs Chapel Bandra Bazar Road

A new coat of paint a new look, the chapel that sits on Bandra Bazar Road almost touch the vehicles that pass through this narrow lane, is managed by the Carmel Church ..Bandra.

Bandra Bazar Road...Once The East Indian Humble Abode ..

in some parts
sweet serenity
old memories
through a
picture i upload
of bandra back
roads ..corrupt
time swallowed
leaving behind
a pain for posterity
the inheritors
cant get their
properties transferred
bureaucratic hurdles
manipulations in
the code ... by
crooked builders
all hope elbowed
towers want to come
up in place of
gaothans ..
a new world
explodes ..

bring back the old bandra bazar road

The Bandra Bazar Market Heritage Gone To Seed

This is plaque in marble unattended, reminding the Bandraites of their heritage..
The filthiest , dirtiest Market in Mumbai is the Bandra Bazar Market..

the plaque of this market
was laid on 30.11.1934
badly bruised cracked
full of sores ..filthiest
municipal market ..
its essence its core
do they really care
only god knows

I Am Jesus He Said Friend Of The Living And The Dead

“This is my body…this is my blood”
wine and bread ..a thought moves ahead
a crown of thorns on his head .. his face
bleeding red .. seven words ..he fed
this poem dedicated to mind meld..
images are born words withheld ,,.

"Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they do."

"Truly, I say to you, today you will be with me in Paradise."

"Jesus said to his mother: "Woman, this is your son."
Then he said to the disciple: "This is your mother."

"My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?"

"I thirst."

When Jesus had received the wine, he said,"It is finished;"
and he bowed his head and handed over the spirit.

Jesus cried out in a loud voice,
"Father, into your hands I commend my spirit."

Bandra Bazar Fish Market And The Warm Koli Hospitality

If you have not visited the Bandra Bazar fish market , you should and as you enter from the side of green masala vegetable seller ask for Manjula Khankian , she is the pleasing face that meets you sitting on a perched platform.. strangely after living in this vicinity for so many years she is the only one I know by name ,, though I buy fish from the other ladies who all know me by my camera , attire and my grand daughters.

Manjula is very close to both my grand daughters having seen them since they were tiny tots..there are there are 3 sections in the fish market including the courtyard space where there are three East Indian koli women and a few Gujrati Kolis from Chimbai .

You get good fish prawns lobsters and reasonably priced but you have to bargain , I have been to almost a lot of fish markets Khar Khar Danda Juhu Versova and Andheri but somehow I found my comfort level while buying fish at Bandra Bazar,, perhaps because they know I bargain a lot , and buy at my price ,,

My family eats surmai rawas gol or pomfret and prawns once I ate crabs but than wife put an injunction that it was taboo Makroo.. so I dont eat it at home ..I do succumb to its taste when I visit my Koli friend Prakash and his son Mithun at Versova fishing village close to the jetty.

I have had a great respect for the Kolis having lived in a Koli village at Danpada Khar Danda during the 93 riots .. they saved our lives we will be for ever grateful to them .. we had fled leaving all our belongings to my mothers house at Colaba which was one of the most peaceful places during the hardhitting bad times while Mr Naik played the fiddle along with Mr Narsimha Rao.. May Their Souls Rest In Piece ,,

Does The Municipality Really Care ..

falling buildings
neglect apathy
potholed roads
open garbage
as far as the
eye can see
hope gone
garbage porn
free ..nothing
can change
nothing will
change till
it is privatized
or a semi
body ,,please
dont sell it off
for peanuts
to reliance
or some other
profit making
or say tata
good bye
like our
needs to
be free
from neglect
tears on
the soul
of our lost
beloved city

The Unsung Hero of the Gutters

when a
due to municipal
delay negligence
falls the juniors
get suspended
the decorator
who made
internal structural
changes gets
arrested by
default but
the grand lady
on the top
the buck
has the gall
to still be
tall ..
this is
chaltai hai
by political
says it all
now if the
guy who cleans
the gutter dies
of poisonous
will it matter
in mumbai
nothing halts
a poor mans
death was his
own fault
on the soul
of law order
the final
mumbai cries
mumbai dies
but rises like
a phoenix
into a tower
from a chawl

As You Enter The World Of My Dreams

a sleepy
side of
my crazy
one way
two way
no way
a hellish
of life
it seems
the rickshawala
raucously shouts
abusive screams
once upon a time
this east indian
paradise a gaothan
a laid back regime
smell of burning
vindaloo englebert
hits but it lost
its steam.. broken
down dreams
dsilvas demontes
abreos carvalos
mirandas fernandes
almeidas remedios
gomes abdul
badshah mohsin
rehmat rauf rashid
altaf asif and rahim
the marathis the jains
the bhaiyyas the parsis
the dalits bohras
shias khojas
all part of
a working team
bandra bazar road
dying slowly ,,
gradually ,,overflowing
garbage ..lost esteem

I Sometimes Wonder Why People Bring Religion Into Art Of Living

To me religion hardly matters , because if religion belittles and narrows my vision , makes me see people as superior inferior than it is meaningless.. I moved away from congregational thought .. I live on my terms I have absolutely no issue with another mans religion or faith..I keep away from people who proselytize I keep away from bigots ..I follow my inner self and this was a picture shot of an Acharya who visits the Hanuman Temple at Bandra Bazar Road , once I shot it during their Hanuman festival, but for last two years I have not been able to do so.. and I have stopped shooting pictures ..I have no urge or the passion of yore .. I am getting older , and besides with limit on uploading at Flickr I avoid my old trigger hitting impulses .

This year I shot less and will shoot less I prefer to rework my old pictures as BW through Aviary and if you guys wonder why I get up at 4 am to blog, well it is a tragic tale..bed bugs entered our house , innumerable pest control measures local powders Khatnil has not been able to get them out from our lives , they trouble me and my wife the most, we both get up at odd hours to kill them she dips them in water with Khatnil I mercilessly kill them with my hands ..there are many things that can be done remove all the wooden furniture , get it polished , paint the house but than at the moment it is not possible .. I will have to wait for some better days.

Marziya sleeps with my wife so they dont spare her either ..and the bed I sleep is where loads of my negatives , transparencies old books etc are kept .. unless I throw them out ,, and we have tried every thing spent a lot of money but they keep multiplying ,, so I get up and to forget them I blog .. poetize my pain all in the night or wee hours of the morning.

So I search old pictures bring them out from the shoe box at Flickr , use Aviary to refresh repost ..some pictures need the original color ... and this was the time I wore the Lama skirt I hate tight clothes , I have never worn jeans dont agree with me.. I used to wear saffron bright colors I only wear black the color of my inner pain , and the dress code of my Malangness ,,, I am not a photographer nor am I a poet poet ..I am able to see and shoot and able to juggle words on the tapestry of what I shoot..

I was given an award as a photographer for shooting transgender I politely refused one because I am not into competitive photography, I have been that path as a salon shooter , secondly I told them to give it to some young guy it would motivate him more than me and youngsters need motivation,,photography has never been a simple easy task as it has been made more confusing with the artistry of expensive lenses cameras etc..

And so as a first time grand father with no other major vices than photography I thought it best to teach Marziya to shoot and she shoots with sheer confidence that comes first from how you hold your camera and how you respect your camera ..all my 3 grandchildren wont take the camera before first putting it round their neck,, and strangely all 3 of them try to shoot like me..they have yet to read camera manuals or get on the footboard of fucked F stops ..

Life was a few month back very easy I had a great job perks only I had to change my look my attire I did but I realized I was gradually becoming a slavish dog , and was expected to lick my masters boots like his other pet dogs I touched his feet and walked back into my wilderness and my daily struggle .. with the job I could have paid back a few people I owed I cleared a lot of my debts.. but I could not be bossed around and handover my freedom including my reluctant ass from being torn apart for the wrong reasons..

I dont debate with people or their minds I dont get angry being by myself I have no friends .I dont go to places of worship I keep away from who want me to be one of their own.. I am not..I shoot alone ,, I enjoy my grand kids their love for fish aquarium and finches ..I become a child with them.. it is nice at the twilight of my lifes fading light ,,,.

My American friend is worried about Moharam , he wants to shoot Lucknow , he wants to shoot Hyderabad and I told him I would go with him any place did not matter though personally I prefer Hyderabad , he was not sure so he will shoot Moharam in Delhi ,, I dont shoot Moharam in Mumbai at all so I will wait might go to Delhi I love him too much this crazy Jewish friend of mine .. he loves me like crazy too.

And I type with one finger and it hurts , after some time I make mistakes I was recenly sending a message to my doctor friends father in law on his phone via my BB and instead of typing dear I accidentally typed dead .. and when I realized it it was a million apologies ..because I cant see perfectly with my glasses too .. I took my blood sugar after a year .. things can be pretty bad and the forgetfulness of aging mind.

And I have a busy day today , my miya friends down the road in the slums now give me hearty salaams for sharing screen space with Mr Shahid Kapoor ,,, and I am thankful to him because he bore the brunt of my hazar re takes ,,I hate acting .. and with Mr Raj Kumar Santoshi a perfectionist you have to be a born actor or give up acting.. he wont give me another role in his life time I think.. he gave me a role in China Gate and than Phata Poster Nikla Hero.

Now I will make a cup of black tea and than go back to sleep furtively dream bed bugs..

My Sweet Crumbling Bandra Perched On The Tracks

Jesus Comes Here On Wednesdays ...Among The Beggars Of Mahim

zara mulk ke rahbaro ko bulaao ye kuche ye galiya ye manzar dikhaao

A Wheel Chair Called Desire

Ghar Ek Mandir Hai

The Inimitable Muslim Beggar

Rang Aur Noor Ki Bagat Kise Pesh Karoon

The System Fucked The Common Man

The Future Is Very Dark And Bleak,, Be Careful Of What You Speak

The Basket Weavers Of Mahim

The Basket Weavers Of Mahim

aye maa teri soorat se alag bhagwan ki soorat kya hogi

In India Women Is The Lowest Of The Low

burn her
they beat her
murder her
rape her
her genetic
woes they
dont spare
her even
when she
a widow
send her
to varnasi
what more
her life
a punishment
a penance
blow after blow
male dominated
society ..
nips her in
the bud
she grows
kills her
she is
she is
an eyesore

throw acid
on her face
as events

The Rail House Mahim

मदद चाहती है ये हौवा की बेटी यशोदा की हमजिंस, राधा की बेटी

मदद चाहती है ये हौवा की बेटी
यशोदा की हमजिंस, राधा की बेटी
पयम्बर की उम्मत, ज़ुलयखां की बेटी
जिन्हें नाज़ है हिन्द पर वो कहाँ हैं

ज़रा मुल्क के रहबरों को बुलाओ
ये कुचे, ये गलियाँ, ये मंजर दिखाओ
जिन्हें नाज़ है हिन्द पर उनको लाओ
जिन्हें नाज़ है हिन्द पर वो कहाँ हैं

Oh God Not Again

When You Want Water - Even God Lets You Down

Water Water Water ...

I went to Mahim this morning I have a friend a wrought iron designer Ayub Faisal at his workshop of modest means close to the Mahim cemetery as a hobbyist he breeds imported Flowerhorns long bodied short bodied ,I told him I had bought Flowerhorns for my grand daughter Marziya but they did not survive both times I lost over Rs 1700 , so he gave 2 Flowerhorn babies for Marziya free .. I have a partitioned small tank I have kept them there.
After I left Ayub I walked the area close to Mahim church today was Novena to search for my limbless beggar friend Appu .. I walked shot pictures he has disappeared and the roadside market is banned so I walked till the Mahim station took a train back to Bandra ..

And near the station I spotted this girl trying to get water to drink from a tanker ..

Jesus Bleeds

on the cross
for centuries
waiting to
be freed
with his
his poor
his creed
to touch '
feel heal
but nailed
to a cross
bound to
the rock
all bloodied
as he watches
silently the
world misdeeds
the rapes the murders
the wars the acid rain
power lust greed
to live another day
the hapless plead
killed in malls
by the children
'of yazeed