Among all the beggars in Ajmer Sharif , that I shoot prolifically , this boy without hands eludes me , I search for him , but this year I did not find him..and strangely I think he searches for me too , its a cosmic bond based on the austerity of silence.
I have never talked to him ,and I when I did shoot him it is rapidly as I am barefeet and my feet burn , and once I shot him when I was leaving Ajmer .
Who is he .? What is his name I dont know ? Will somebody the very rich influential that come to Ajmer spend lacs of rupees buy him prosthetic arms I dont know.
Man is a hardened animal..his only interest is himself.. in Mumbai the other person who appeals to my inner angst is Appu , he is a stump of a torso without hands without legs.
Shooting beggars is not the easiest of enterprise every shot kills a part of you inside , it kills me ..I much change I try not to talk to beggars it would break the rhythmic rhapsody of a divine moment , call it my callousness but I am trying to now talk to the beggars I shoot a few words of comfort , money everyone gives who gives comfort solace.
The upper echelons of fine art photographers look down upon us for shooting beggars , giving a bad name to the country , and who really gives a bad name to the country i dont need to answer , silence should suffice.
And I must remind you cops local hoodlums all make money off the beggar and it is pure business ..thee is no human sentiment at all.
All the beggars give a share to the local hood he collects keeps his bit rest is handed over to the agents of evil in power .its a game played without asking questions.
To give dignity to my passion for shooting beggars I call myself a beggar poet I too am a beggar and a word juggler who passes himself off as a poet.
People like me could never be part of a press , or a group, or an anjuman.. being stupidly self willed and fiercely independent .
And photography is a catharsis for the pain that is part of the soliloquy of my soul and its silhouette too.
