Saturday, April 28, 2012

The Street Photographers From Bandra

My Grand Children Give Me A Reason To Live .. Or I Would Have Died a Long Time Back

The Essence of Street Photographers Lies in Humility ...

Two Malangs and The Youngest Street Photographer of Mumbai

Nerjis Asif Shakir 9 month old aka Google+kid is a Malang like me... we read each other , we understand each other , through the path that leads from her mind to my mind and vice versa..

Marziya Shakir 4 is not a Malang , its about attitude of mind bodylanguage and more ...

In our house even Jesus lives among the two Malangs ... he is part of our ethos ...he looks like a Malang in more ways than one ..

And the silver Jesus stick has been part of my spiritual arsenal.. it heals and you dont have to believe this if you are a skeptic..

I carry it to most places it goes into hibernation during Moharam , than it remains in my drawer ,out comes the dagger that will cut my head in memory of Imam Hussain.. my patron Saint here and in the hereafter.

Both my two tiny ones Nerjis Asif Shakir and Zaira Saif Shakir have their backs scourged by me with sharp blades , Marziya uses the dagger without flinching a bit ..yes we are Shias of Imam Ali..

I am affilated to a Sufi sect of Dam Madar Malangs I shall refuel my pledge to my Guru Peer Masoumi Ali Baba of Gwalior at Ajmer Sharif this year I shall go to Ajmer without shoes or footwear ...

Reconnect with the Rafaees , the Malangs The Hijra Bawas the eunuchs and above all the beggars with whom I break bread ..

The money I earn as a beggar goes to more greater beggars than me..

I live with a very kind holy scholar Peersaab Fakhru Miya Hujra No 6 a lover of Ahle Bayt my patron my guide and mentor in Sufism as a way of Life ...in terms of morality , my spirituality is hardcore Shia..

Friday, April 27, 2012

Who Would Want To See My Pictures ...

the sleepwalkers
on the sleepless
internet i replied
connected to life
inducing
Internet wires
attached
to the veins
in the soul
i lied
he looked
at me bewildered
eyes open wide
as i shot him
from a cab
i gave him
this ride
a lift
to his destination
untried
time stood still
the soul was
willing
the inner
vision cried

the cry of a child seeing his mothers world going wild ..born beguiled



this could be a shot
while he was growing
in his mothers womb
of pain to a world
outside he too would
be fucked enchained
a vegetable crying
for the loss of
his cosmic brain
no no more just
once he wont ever
come back again
among the debris
of a bombed
structure lie
his remains

i just got this .. in my head .. before it hit the sidewalk of my heart

as long as my cab does not move I shoot his pain and i know i wont see him again

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