This was shot when he was painfully alive , his lifeline was the hooch shop near my house that I told you about , he begged to drink and drink he did , you can see his silent unspeakable artificial leg .
I once had a fight with him , he was creating nuisance I went to hit him but than cooled down , later I tried to beg forgiveness from myself .
We never talked he would see me mutter inanities sitting on the garbage mound ,I dont know his name , but he was an iconic beggar cum drunkard of Bandra Bazar Road .. and I archived his existence and his death .. he just died into oblivion never to be seen or heard again.
His last days were very bad and it was about three years back when my friend Glenn shot him too I felt guilty giving him money but I did ,,I did not want Glenn to oblige him..
Having been an alcoholic myself I understood his urge , his withdrawl and the after effects of his surging dependence on hooch..he never bathed
at all, he was ugly as hell he came to my area imprinted his last moments , forgotten , unsung and I ket him alive as an image a memory and today I let him go from the captivity of the broken bottle of life .
And this is the poetry of his life .he touched my life too and I pass by everyday at the same spot where he played dead and than actually died .
And my grand daughter Marziya Shakir saw all this was she shooting the same images in her head without the camera .
the mind is a camera visiion or no vision , some things we are shown , some things hidden from us deliberately.
“You were born with wings, why prefer to crawl through life?”
― Rumi
