I am street photographer a beggar poet .. I shoot misery cavorting with hope I shoot original content. I am Shia Sufi Hindu all in One
Tuesday, December 9, 2014
The Inimitable Humble Late Mr KG Maheshwari With Mrs Maheshwari
That he made it to my eldest son Asifs wedding reception was a daunting task..much before the Sea Link came into existence I think..and he hardly moved out of his old home Maheshwari House Napean Sea Road. But he came accompanied by late Mr BW Jatkar he could not refuse the Beggar Poet of Mumbai.
Perhaps he blessed my son photographically that both Asifs daughters are prolific street photographers beggar shooters Canon users and wildly in Bandra.This I believe is Mr Maheshwarijis gift to my family.
Every morning in the days before he fell ill he would call me talk to me about life , guide me mentor me and also send his wisdom via email.. he was a passionate cybernetic geek.. even at his age .. and he never stopped learning .. what he learnt he would share so like me there were others he called up too be it Mr KB Jothady , Vinay Parelakar or Bhupesh Little and the great camera artist Mr Anil Risal Singh.. including late Mr Dilip Ghosh from Jabalpur .
His Maheshwari Foundation helped various camera clubs salons and he did it in such a way that the left hand did not know what the right hand was doing..
But he connected me to Goverdhan Dhoot , his daughter had married in the Dhoot family and Goverdhan and I had studied early 50 S at Mrs E Lesters Private European School along with the Nanavatis .and the Kuruvilla sisters Priya and Laila and Madhu Sudhir Ruia.
I was talking to Goverdhan after almost 45 years and it was because of Mr KG Maheshwari,, I have all his mail, his pictures , and his silent memories ..His incomplete wish was I bring both Marziya Shakir and Nerjis my granddaughters to his house at Tiny Heights when he got well.. but he passed away before I could do the needful.
He presented me his pictorial work Silver Memories ..and was always thanking me for having introducing him to the digital whiz multifaceted Atul Chuabey .
He was witty , fast on the uptake and full of humorous anecdotes , he changed my life completely I called him my Ultimate Guru the other two being Mr Shreekanth Malushte and Mr BW Jatkar .
And I met him at PSI photoshoot thanks to Mr BW Jatkar who called him Babuji .. I once took him to the Bandra Photofair too..and he was thrilled with this outing meeting Kakoobhai and other photographers , he was vibrant like a school kid ,, and always had a childs mischievous glint ,, I told you so..
Will PSI hold a prayer meeting , I dont know but he answered a lot of peoples prayers and he was extremely fond of Sridhar of PSI .
I was not there at the other shoots a his house bu I modeled for him posed for him because of my kinky weird look attire and jewelry.
Yes Mr Masheshwari after your family I am going to miss you the most.. and he was a poet too adding words to my own poetry ,, I will have to check his old mail for those immemorial tidbits .
And my visit with him to Century house to see the pictures of Mr BK Birla his wifes brother.. all old memories .. he was very fond of late Mr Anil Bhartiya too, and had taken Aniljis sad departure to heart.
A Picture is worth a Million words ,, Thank You Maheshwariji you touched us all. leaving your cosmic imprints on the sands of photography,
Monday, December 8, 2014
Our Heritage Has Gone To Seed
squirming in their graves
in their samadhis our
freedom fighters our
ancestors who from the
scourge of the british
had us freed,, to hand us
over to corrupt leaders
a corrupt system built on
greed ..the british built
monuments bridges
did some good deed
we build to destroy
nature the poor with
towers of babel by
those with hands in the
cookie jars that lead
making billions in
the name of the hapless
dalit still an untouchable
for self respect equality
justice he pleads ..he is
still cobbling shoes of
the richman cleaning toilets
washing clothes has still
not learnt to write or read
rascals crooks madarchods
we breed ..who rape sodomize
throw acid on women burn
them for dowry evil seed
we are hypocritical racists
intolerant to the other mans
caste and creed ..indians are
the worst enemies of mother
india ..looting her every day
no remedy ..15 august on our
independence day unfurling
the national flag we become
indians or we are hindus on
diwali christians on xmas
only muslims on both the eids
They Call Me Camerewale Bawa In Ajmer .. They Think I Heal People With My Camera
wide eyed
they stare
at my attire
my chunky
rings my hair
both zanjirwale bawa
me an unusual pair
he with his chains
me with my camera
held captive in a cosmic
lair at ajmer sharif universal
spiritually mystic fair .. people
seeker lost souls come here
from everywhere ..the timid
the soft spoken the possessed
those who dare to exorcise
the demons their nightmare
the hijra the shamans the mystics
the gora photographers blonde fair
the dam madar malangs with black
turbans dread head long lengthy hair
everyone here has some sorrow to share
the camera does heal i solemnly swear
ajmer the city of peace hindus muslims
on par breathing the same godly air
beggars crippled limbless lepers blind
ones little urchins scared the lady with
two faces all caught in a snare .. i touch
them through the circle of confusion my
humility my piety devoid of any conceit
my love my flair ..the great humble saint
garib nawaz lord of the poor who cares
next year lets meet with the malangs at ajmer
Rashid Bawa .. Challenged God To Become A Woman Of Substance
oh god
you are not
perfect you
know it so do
i i wanted to
be born as
a woman
my prenatal
request you
denied god
you played a
fast one on
me you took me
for a ride but i
challenged your
verdict i became
a woman a dancer
full of pride every
trinket on my feet
reechoing my pain
my cry.. i wanted
to cut my wrist i
solemnly wanted
to die ..a pain my
padded bosom was
unwilling to hide
if god you had a
heart of a woman
you would know
my feelings my
androgynous soul
split open wide
god because i
could not find
a man worthy of
me i became your
unrepentant bride
Every Picture I Shot An Elusive Moment I Caught
i am a photographer
self taught fuck F stops
from the ocean of memories
feelings i bought .the poor
mans dreams his cosmic
plot .. the man within the soul
of his surroundings in humility
i shot monks malangs beggars
that rot ,,reality hardcore on
sanctity a blot ..it was this the
fear in his eyes i sought as he
awaited death to reach out to
his destiny tied up in knots
i could only shoot what god
wanted me to shoot he chose
the time he chose the moment
the ideal spot ,,whispering in
my ears when you become a
big man see that you forget
them not ,,barefeet kissing
mother earth humid and hot
Sunday, December 7, 2014
She Cleans Gutters For Gold ,, The Girl Childs Story Unfold
in gutters near
jewelry shops
workshops
with a brush
she searches
for particles
of gold her
parents edict
she must do
what she was
told or they
will beat her
scold ..working
endlessly without
rest from dawn
to dusk her lost
childhood on hold
no toys no barbie
no school no education
she will be married away
to another scavenger
dirty and old giving
birth to another girl
child out in the cold
at the moment
vulnerable she waits
for hope on the threshold
jewelry shops
workshops
with a brush
she searches
for particles
of gold her
parents edict
she must do
what she was
told or they
will beat her
scold ..working
endlessly without
rest from dawn
to dusk her lost
childhood on hold
no toys no barbie
no school no education
she will be married away
to another scavenger
dirty and old giving
birth to another girl
child out in the cold
at the moment
vulnerable she waits
for hope on the threshold
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