Was It Fear In His Eyes ..

what was it i stood mesmerized
what had i captured a moment
on the shores of time capsized
now trying to introspect i realize
i shot his past present future
hidden behind veiled eyes
his mothers agony his mothers
angst her sufferings her sacrifice
her faceless sorrow tears dried
her humility her religiosity
her humanity ..to suffice
pictures return as stories
though elusive hope flies

a reworked art of living
giving from my archives

the flesh was unwilling the spirit strives

Yes I Am A Beggar Born

“The garden of the world has no limits, except in your mind.”
― Rumi


from a mothers defeated womb
into a defeated world i was born
when i opened my eyes the nectar
of mothers womb was gone
a darkness enveloped hope
as my mother helplessly
clutched the dying dawn
begging hands she had
unintentionally spawned
battered beaten scorned
hiding her inherent shame
in veiled captivity ..a breathing
rose clinging to a thorn ..
as she moves on and on
from one door to another door
on my cheated fate she mourns

Misplaced Motherhood On The Block

“Whoever finds love
beneath hurt and grief
disappears into emptiness
with a thousand new disguises”
― Rumi

standing at the market place
like a wave kissing the rock
she wonders about her life
she takes stock....she falters
in silence her pain she hawks
she has not eaten her child
is hungry pleadingly knocks
on the shut doors of humanity
that you have suddenly locked
in the name of Allah the Great
his mercy she seeks she talks

One among many of his lost flock

Beggars Are Born Dreamers

When a man cannot put up a fight , when his world crashes , when he loses it all , the earth beneath his feet slides away than comes the pain of unliving ..

Begging is not easy as one thinks it when the soul of self respect is usurped snatched away leaving behind the fleshy husk at the mercy of nature and its surroundings.

A lot of beggars I shot have disappeared into oblivion , most of them afraid of the last breath of life take to drinking and a hooch joint close to my house and the garbage dump and this wall is soul searching ones dreams.

This guy had artificial legs drank hollered but was once said to be from an affluent family ..he begged at the bazar and  the drug addicts robbed his artificial leg , he was left on a mound with stumps..

I shot him a lot , as this was in front of my old workplaces .. here too I was visited by hijra impostors beggars  dressed as women with one eunuch in their group to add to their impersonation..

And Bandra Bazar road the market area is the ugliest place thanks to the Cong satraps who neglected this place completely and are paying the price of their political inaccessibility arrogance and conceit and they will disappear from the Indian road map if they do not reconnect with the public..

Blaming the leaders on the top for their defeat is an eyewash, it was these guys our local representatives who lost track of reality , they kept their sycophants and chamchas who took the general public for a ride..

Sadly Mr Sunil Dutts hard work legacy has been lost forever ..he touched us all he was kind considerate human , he knew the pulse of the people of Bandra riding his cycle he stopped at the Bazar talked to the shopkeepers the vendors the residents something none of his successors could ever do.. it would have soiled their clothes and Gucci keds as our Bazar is muck filth personified.


I used to altar Mr Sunil Dutt Saabs clothes , he would call me to his office and smilingly interact, he would write personal notes to us he was the spirit of hope that wont ever come back again,

He came to our weddings , deaths in our family and stood by us solidly , the greatest insult to his wife is naming the filthiest dirtiest slum as Nargis Dutt Nagar..

Yeh Bat Such Hai Is Bar Ya Agli Bar Janta Apko Maf Nahi Karegi .. and this is the reply to those who play vote bank politics , why dont the politicians keep a letter box in their constituencies where immediate private feedback can be given to them but they left us at the mercy of their henchmen..

And I write this without malice I am a traditional Congress voter but not anymore ..I use my vote to vote for a capable sound corrupt free candidate ..


So sometimes a sleeping beggar can let out a flow of emotions that were lying dormant ..such is the holistic anger of a blog in pain.
Yes I am confident Acche Din Anewale Hain if not for me at least for the Beggars who cant be choosers ..


If you are irritated by every rub, how will your mirror be polished?”
― Rumi

Ramzan Mubarak Aya Ramzan Mubarak Aya

This was shot many years back during the holy month of Ramadhan and the title says , the Holy Month of Ramadhan Has Arrived

And for the beggars it is the advent of spring soaked in the seasonal spirituality of faith and hope.

It is this month that charity reigns supreme , only this month sadly , the most significant month of introspection piety and all good things on earth.

Beggars look forward to this holy month and the offerings are good , people give , and they give generously.such is the nature of mans spirituality..

Early morning the roza or fast begins and this is known as sairi  late in the evening the roza or fast comes to n end known as the iftar..

And it is this iftar time the local mosues the markets bazars see a horde of beggars
waiting for charity , people buy the iftar fruits dates etc , ,,and some handover a bit to them.money or in kind.

The rich take care of the poor the poor take care of the very very poor..

The air during Ramadhan is fragrant laden with overwhelming joy of living and giving.

Forgiving too if I may say so, and Ramadhan in Muslim localities like Bhendi Bazar and the slum pockets in Bandra is a moment delirious in hopeful sanctity..

Earlier I took Marziya my grand daughter to JJ Colony where the iftar items are sold and the pungent aroma of tanduri chicken , made her shoot a few street scenes .

Now it is the turn of my 2 year old gran daughter Nerjis more gifted and more adept with the camera than her sibling..

Nerjis shoots beggars , and she does it fluidly than pinching me to give the beggar some money on her behalf , or she will hint I take her picture with the beggar a lesson in innocence and humility.

And the girl in the picture is showing me the stuff she got to take home all the gift of Ramadhan..

Ramadhan touches everyone Muslims non Muslims and Christians too ..in my area..

We send the home made stuff to our Christian neighbors  which they return with a plate of kal kal and guava halwa..

Ramadhan Eid is a topic that needs to be elicited as a separate blog, and I will delve on it later , the chicken dum biryani and sheer korma and Eidi for the kids ..

Of course for the beggars the Muslim beggars there is no such joy, they work overtime after the Ramadhan morning prayers end they congregate in clusters outside the Bandra Station Road where the namaz is held or outside the various Bandra mosques.

And as I am not shooting pictures I am taking you back into my archives , reliving the life of the beggars as the poetry of life on the streets of Bandra.

The Haunting Face Of Misery

born a girl child
a beggar she was
destined to be
robbed of her
right to education
her fundamental
right to smile
to play enslaved
held in captivity

will she ever be free
no -early matrimony
to an old man or
 a drunkard
a few kids divorced
on the road she will be
like her mother
her cosmic pain
her ancestry

a few coins
they call it charity

being a poor
deprived muslim
is carrying the
crucifix from
birth to eternity

her haunting image
as words to my poetry
her silence the soul
of my street photography

Ma Acche Din Kab Ayenge

kya yeh hame kuch batlayenge
ke yeh bhi auron ki trah hame
bhul jayenge . ma kab tak yeh
hath ham phelayenge ..
kab tak ham bhikari kehlayenge

ma bolona acche din kab ayenge