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Showing posts from February 4, 2015

What Actually Is Street Photography ...

I dont think it is taking a camera walking down the street taking random shots ,I think it is much deeper , more mystical , more mind awakening venture and a learning device too..

I am not talking about theatricality I see every frame as a poetry of life  juxtaposed between here and there, as I travel mostly by bus I shoot from the bus window and something pushes me to add a scene into the heart of my camera , I shoot all my pictures in color, here it was the lady , in her own world she was wearing a bright blood red saree ,a South Indian lady and again what you really shoot is body language , which only the camera understands ..I dont compose I simply shoot , I shoot for myself , and what I shot with my mind could be read differently by your mind .. I believe in simplicity , simple scenes of life that we have forgotten to see and appreciate .

I cannot go on a photo walk , I am a loner I shoot exclusively on my own..I remember once I was aggravated with a lady at Vasai beach she kept…

The Mumbai I Shoot Is Very Different From The Mumbai You Live In

And all these areas are clusters of hope ..the children playing outside the symbolic wooden frame shops hardly know the hardships of their father , the mother burdened by perhaps 4 or 6 kids ..My mother may god rest her soul was blessed with father started of a  tailor in his struggling days a migrant from Lucknow ,, his first home where I lived was a shanty in Kurla next to a Hindu crematorium.. I was born in Lucknow and came with my mother to Bombay as it was called when she was 15 year old.. at these slums which were actually known as Bakhar or wood and carpenter workshops.

My mother sometimes with tears in her eyes would narrate those days , the fear , the leaking tin roof , the dead bodies that she was scared to see even from far and it this fear of graves that never left her ,.. she now lies buried next to my dad at Rehmatabad Shia cemetery side by side as husband and wife on a long journey once again without the bothersome litter .

So in short though our father pulle…

The Muslim Beggar On A Badly Dug Out Mumbai Road

a muslim man passes by
a hindu lady passes by
a street photographer
shoots her on the sly
she is having a frugal
lunch hiding it from all
your eyes..why is she
begging perhaps you
too are surprised ..
now why will you ask
her its not nice ..on a
mumbai perennially
dug out road an open
heart digging ,,to be
concise ..they dig leave
it open for someone
to fall in to be precise
our surroundings are
mounds of graves in
disguise says
dev sab mumbai wont
ever be shanghai ,,says
another power loving
neta..Hai Mumbai
with a hurtful sigh
 ,,so back to the
muslim beggar lady
eating her meals as
the day goes by ,,
how much has she
earned ..what  will
she buy essentials
food for her family
in the slums ,,a thought
comes by ,,muslims
are least interested in
muslims ,,such is the
muslim social order
do tell me why ,,the
muslim beggar is an
untouchable is what
meets the eye ..beg
to live and beg to die

than i think of the 72 virgins
begging hands outstretched
in Dantes Paradise ...

a satirica…

God Tells Me What To Shoot Muslim Beggars Poor Destitute

children hardened
by hunger silent
mute to the rich
who give them
money victuals
they look cute
the pain of living
arduous acute
forgiving fate
for the calamity
of this birth
a silence resolute
searching for their
roots the wild
wilderness of an
urban jungle
blessings they
freely distribute
abysmal absolute

Nawab Saab Yeh Kaisa Khwab Sab

jab garib ki maut ati ha woh shaher ki taraf daudta hai..

takdir ko tabir se jodta hai
nakamyab hone par waqt
ki mod par apni badkismati
ka sar phodta hai...kabhi aisi
halat main apne khabon ka
be rehmi se gala madodta hai

Everything Is Fair In Elections Like Love And War

all the candidates
with abated  breath
wait for the final hour
aflatoons battle weary
but also battle scarred
each one first second
third lustfully lust for
power ..once elected
a few will build their
business towers waiting
eagerly for that huge
humongous garland of
money and flowers ,,
the gutter trap ready
to catch the voter mouse
says netaji hands folded
bhai bahnji step into my
bower...the one who
will lose will say kismet
gandu thi grapes are
fucking sour ,,

The Uncommon Common Man of India Is Known As Am Admi

locked out
pushed to
the brink
the common
man has lost
it he cant think
he was forever
the day his finger
got inked ..all
the parties woo he thinks
politics in india
is a wrestling match
netajis wearing masks
 of undertaker hulk hogan
khali king kong dara singh
fight to finish this political
riing..the match fixers even
those who are puppets on
a string..the poor common man
asthmatic coughing a muffler
round his neck honest to
the opponents scams he
wont be linked .. his health
pinkest of pink.. he does
not gamble he does not
drink,, once in a while at
the pretty candidate he loves
to wink.. accidental kink
every political armor has
a chink..confused he loves
to blink.. said the lady from
florida locked out of life
without wife without
children ,, on the road
free of gabage swach
bharat with his broom
in the oppositions hand
as he sinks ,,politics
sucks it always stinks

kaun banega chief minster
a post that is jinxed ,,,,