Sunday, May 1, 2011

I Have Lost My Dreams On The Internet



they came
touched me
lit my way
than moved
fleetingly
far away
lips sealed
wont say

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Dhirubhai of Advocate Tailors

182,723 items / 1,441,348 views

He is a man I respect the most in my tailoring fraternity and he reminds me of my Dad who was respectfully called Shakir Master .

Perhaps I see my dad in him , but he is a sober man cultured and humble unlike my dad who was colorful robust and a hardcore romantic , my dad was good looking in a rakish way.

Dhirubhai is a simple man , in the trade since 1963 his clientele is intact and keeps growing from one generation to the next though sadly Dhirubhai is the last of his generation , as his children all well settled are million light years away from tailoring.

His two daughters are well settled in United States of America, they call him every day , his daughter Geeta lives with him to serve him , though she is married and well settled too in Mumbai Ghatkopar.

His one son Ravi moved to Ahmedabad and the other son my dear friend is a doctor , the only Hindu doctor with the largest Muslim patents in all of Bandra West. Dr RD Parmar of Bandra Jain Mandir Road.

Dhirubhai wears a long shirt and a pajama , sartorial simplicity in this designing world of fashion and style..but he is good at his work, and he is honest polite and soft spoken..

When I am depressed sad I sit with Dhirubhai listen to his tales , he knows all the top lawyers judges that have made their wardrobe with him, and he greets them when they enter his shop close to my workspace.

That I am into tailoring too does not matter , he gets what he is deemed to get ..Dhirubhai does everything himself cut stitch press he is always involved with the garment .. giving it a touch of hope..

So I touch his feet consider him a Guru of my trade and he listens to my stories my failures my love life too.. he will never broach me , he just listens he subscribes to Midday that I borrow and read every day.

Once upon a time Dhirubhai and his family his father was a Master too stayed at Marwadi Chawl Bandra.

Bandra has changed but Dhirubhai remains unchanged he is what he was when he was young, he will never retire and I know Dhirubhai has greater pain in his heart than me , he has never told me, he conceals it well but as a mind reader I know it all..and perhaps he too is a mind reader as he knows my pain too ..my predilection my doom..

Once during Idd , that is the time when Dhirubhai is packed with work, all the Muslims from our area make their Idd clothes with Dhirubhai.. and I never envy him , a guy wanted to have a pathani urgently made he came to me two days before Ramzan Idd.. I refused him , he said but Sir you makes clothes for everyone in my area aren't you Advocate Tailors.. I directed him to Dhirubhai.. so such is my relationship with Dhirubhai, most of his clients are my best friends but I refuse to make their clothes.

And they understand my style my content my form is different from Dhirubhai but we are one as he is a traditionalist like me..and honestly he is my inspiration , he uses the same English scissors my dad used..and through Dhirubhai I try to discover my dead departed father one of his kind Shakir Master..who was a connoisseur of beauty and a heart throb..

My younger brother Shakil Shakir was luckier he learnt tailoring under my Dad , and though I hated tailoring cutting , I learnt cutting under Miss Spencer at Windmere Road close to Taj Mahal Hotel..and accidentally got drawn to couture ..

I have seen great masters of the olden era Bul Bul Master of Shrimans and so many others but my dad was unique and made clothes of all the dons of the 60 s Haji Mastan , Yusuf Patel, Basu Bhai Khaliq Bhai ,Karim Lala Maxy Rashid Arba best friend of Basu Bhai and they came to our house at Jony Castle Wodehouse Road.. it was a era of white clothes and Rampuri chaku.. no guns no bombs just a word of the don could make you piddle in your pants..

And they gave us kids money generously they were our childhood heroes ..

So sitting at Dhirubhai s shop I let my mind my imagination soar..

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Happy Maharashtra Day Unhappy Dry Day Happy Sunday

182,720 items / 1,441,348 views


the greatest
mockery
on any feast day
or during election voting
counting votes time
by the way
is a eponymous
venomous dry day
when they lock up the
bars restaurants wine shops
throw the keys away
but dont worry every street corner
near yacht janta deepa it is easily
available they say as a parcel take away
even if the contents are nakli you are a bewda
you will fuckin drink it anyway i have gone
through the vicious cycle of alcoholism
it ran in my bloodstream every day,,
but hafta corruption scam is in our blood
how will it ever go away so bewda joints addas
call the dry day their all saints day
they pay get away...counterfeit booze zindabad
on the highway nothing more to add or say
games that our ministers play...holding
our balls at ranson..from the system
you just cant get away..


from a reformed teetotaler to the bewda a Happy Maharashtra Day..keep the change anyway..

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How Could You Do This To Me

182,698 items / 1,441,284 views


silence kills
her silence
a sweet
bitter pill
on a slow fire
the poets heart
liver spleen
she grilled
her last wish
executed
brilliantly
finished
before
she caught
the last train
home vanished
never to be seen
or heard again
from her world
he was duly
banished
poetry passion
pain pathos
anguish
lament
languish
piping
hot garnished
haleem
served
as her favorite
dish
to her 3 little bears
stout stocky fattish

warrior queen
goddess
arrogant conceited
pompous
proud selfish
choked the life
of a poetic
pristine
friendship
her kohl
laden dewy eyes
her Cleopatra nose
her gazelle like neck
her pout her pillow lips
arched curvy eyebrows
sensuous luscious
finger tips holding
a cat o none tails
the back of the poet
she horsewhipped
tight lipped his heart
from his body
she ripped
the rest of the
gory details
i have duly
skipped

but i believe
his blood
with relish
in a wine glass
she sipped
her divine form
her divine beauty
her perpendicularly
pendulous hips
end of a short
sweet courtship
bleeding the soul
of a hardcover
bound script

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On The Accidental Death Of A Beggar Poet

182,573 items / 1,440,913 views

morbidity
blood tears and sweat
he came under
the karmic wheels
of her car died
as he had lived
on the internet
his lifes last
sunset
he leaves
his mark
on the
soul of poetry
a positive spam
in her debt
his number
on her hand set
finally
his poems
have found
an outlet
beyond
the abyss
of her toilet
unflushed
emotions
she wont
forget
jab we met
bad karma
deleted
doomed
bad kismet

khuda hafiz
alvida
rest in peace
beggar poet
its better to have loved and lost
than not to have loved at all
she sighed showed her regret
a debauched moment
his madness his craziness
she will soon forget

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Whip lashed

182,572 items / 1,440,907 views

the lashes
continue
they wont stop
blood trickles
like rain drops
on a window pane
of the back
non stop
a fiddler
on the rooftop
serenading
the soul of silence
dark gloomy
backdrop
a wordsmith
in a rusty
dingy workshop
emotions
evolving
revolving
going flippity flop

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I Lost It


I Lost It, originally uploaded by firoze shakir photographerno1.

182,571 items / 1,440,892 views

for a few
seconds
she was
in my hands
a dove
a bird of
paradise
bluish white
than she felt
choked
suffocated
she took flight
i am still
holding a
part of her
in my hands
airtight
my darkening
mornings
my lightning
nights
in my mind
out of sight
wrong and right
spectral light
shadows
highlights
with a sword
of silence
my soul
she smites

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