Sunday, April 25, 2010

Sometimes Death is a Blessing in Disguise

124,618 items / 872,537 views

in a world
full of corruption
where hope
is sodomized
where truth
is terrorized
where love
each morning
commits suicide
where trust
is taken for a ride
where peace
whores
on a dictators
bedside
where humility
is trampled
vanity resides
to the poor
a somnolent
god no hope
provides
groveling before
a corrupt system
the common man
gets kicks
on his backside
taking his misery
as providence as fate
his pain hides
hiss time bides
seeking an end
to life's torture
sometimes death
is a blessing
in disguise
into a funereal
gloom his soul
swings and slides
to this poet
his pain
he confides
burnt from
within
burnt outside

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The Chase Begins

124,617 items / 872,464 views

dont stop dreaming
whether you lose
whether you win
the birth of an actor
the chase begins
a maverick on
a silver screen
a new tale spins
from a builder
to an actor
a new trade in
2010
a year of kapoor
revival he grins
along
with his kith and kin
houseful therein
in his soul of soul
a raj kapoor within
father shammi kappor
nods his chin
life is coming out
of thick and thin
an actor is an actor
beneath
his flesh and skin


to aditya raj kapoor
in humble gratitude
a barefeet blogger
unbottled djinn

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Shooting the Hijra Angst

over heard among the hijras

yeh sala chutita
ham logon ke photo
leke kya karta hai

said the other hijra
gand main dalta hai

said the third
gandu sarkela hai

the last one
sala eda bhi hai

I gave them Rs 20 and drove away in the ricksha I had to meet Laurent Salesse at Leopold Cafe and Bar at 12 pm last Sunday..

And whatever the hijras told about me is inadmissible in a court of law and cannot be used as evidence against them or me for that matter..

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You Need a Temperament to Shoot Hijras

hijras are not an
easy subject
to shoot hot headed
crazy volatile
these hijras
whom i shoot
on the streets
totally infantile
like babies
that time
has raped
defiled
pain after pain
on their fucked
souls piled
yes some of these hijras
can smash you camera
they can be preposterously
impulsive and wild
every hijras is not polished
like laxmi narayan tripathi
the medias fondest brain child
luck celina jaitley
on her fate have smiled
a charm infective beguiled
on the whole all hijras
are racially profiled
snubbed and reviled
from main stream society
exasperatingly exiled
their life their angst
as photo blogs
with great difficulty
as a poet photographer
i have in humility
compiled
barefeet
self styled

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Shooting The Fucked Fate Of Hijras

overheard

fucker takes pictures of hijras
is he a hijra or what a
conversation
my ears caught
i shoot what i shoot
my fucked photographers lot
to be or not to be
what i am not
between
the hijras hairy legs
lies misplaced manhood
instead
of the missing twat
bending his ass
what it is about
rectal rectitude
an emotion
the hjra forgot
testicular
tragedy
a broken pot
an empty slot
fucked
from asshole
to eternity
on a bed bug
infested
creaky cot
50 bucks
with a reusable
condom
per shot
as a memory
of this encounter
herpes you got
hiding it
from your wife
was not part
of the twist
in the unfilmy plot
on the head
of your cockeyed
penis a red dot
as it rots
everyday
at peela house
quacks clinic
on the buttocks
the botox
like shots
to be human even if
the soul is a sexpot
a bare feet blogger
poetizing the soul
of street photography
with some sex thoughts

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The Hijra Comes Alive

124,616 items / 872,169 views


I got a message on Facebook this poem is for her in gratitude and thanks


Kanya Dixit April 22 at 6:44pm
Omg...what an adorable work ...I am totally mesmerized by your penmanship and ur great work of art on people like us...U deserve a salute from me babaji....I dont know how to address you but feel like calling u 'Babaji'....Thanks a ton again for all ur hard work on people of E genre.....Namaskaar......Miss India Kanya Dixit


blood
muscles sinews
human emotions
is all same
gender dubious
neither man
nor woman
hijra in name
androgynous
aesthetic
the hijra
is game
the mysticism
of her life
her notoriety
to fame
god was a miser
a man woman
he made
from the rib
of man
a woman like
man came
over the years
hijra became
his lifes
ignominy
his eternal
shame
a missing vagina
a missing womb
a hijra comes alive
out of the frame
a wick
of his masculinity
buring in flames
the pain
of a candle
waxen tears
exclaim
burnt bruised
wounded
maimed
for the sins
of his forefathers
the hjra defamed

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The Bhelpuriwallah

124,614 items / 871,726 views

He is bhelpuriwalah I know since 1982..I dont know his name , he parked his cart at a junction near Tawah Restaurant , and I knew him well as I stayed for somettime with my family at 28 th road Bandra in a company flat.

It was during this time his son died , he was totally doomed and crushed ..I moved away time elapsed and than he began parking his cart near Waterfieled Road ..he would see me nod but we never talked at all.


And I know as a father he carries the memories of his dead son , the way he pushes the cart I feel he is pushing his dead sons body to the crematorium, I feel his pain after so many years and I took this shot asking him to stop .. and he gave me a faint glimmer of a smile a smile of Hope.


Street photography is not randomly going trigger happy shooting street scenes , no it is much more street photography is shooting stories that encapsulate pain and raw human emotions..

A picture must touch , yes it must touch you and then reveal what was hidden from you, it reverberates as a memory you may or you may not have lived..

If I had just posted the picture as is where is, you got one aspect of his life's story his struggle and his determination to survive even though a few want him out of the city , yes in times like this when you cant nab terrorists than you search for a scapegoat even a North Indian becomes a terrorist , a bar dancer becomes a terrorist even the Muslim man with a goatee and a skull cap makes you think he is a terrorist..

And it makes me laugh at the cameo of life , why must a terrorist look like a Muslim , if he is a wily terrorist smart cyber savvy, he will look like a policeman , a postman , a courier boy, an Army man, a Catholic priest a Sadhu and even as a politician, any life's or even Laxmans common man for that matter.. , Kasab blew the myth of the Taliban type terrorist, even a guy riding a roller skates could be a terrorist..

There was a time I was stopped at all Nakabandi because I wore a turban, though I was clean shaven, but I was a suspected Terrorist simply because I have a Muslim name..I than began wearing saffron , Hindu religious attire I have never been stopped at all, but I have stopped thinking about all this , the Mumbai police know me now at least in the areas that I am a regular visitor.

Street photography is learning wisdom of the streets , I had a photographer friend Dr Reza Masoudi from London , he was here last year to shoot Moharam Ashura in Mumbai He called me to share lunch with him at Lucky Hotel, he is an excellent street photographer too, and after lunch he was going to walk all the way to Makdhoom Shah Babas Shrine to shoot pictures ..

I dd not accompany him ..he is working on a documentary of Shia life , during Moharam , he has shot Lucknow too.

He kept taking notes and I told him the largest collection of the Shia ethos during Moharam is my Flickr photosteam..for that matter Hinduism and the Hijra ethos too.

As a street photographer all religious events feasts festivals celebrated on the streets come under the canopy and purview of street photography.

Street photography is shooting candids too.. have good reflexes and fast I shoot on a single frame mode unlike the Mumba phot journos whom I call Khat a Khat photographers.. in a speed that betrays oxymoron haste..

But I get tired of still photography and if God permits I will take up shooting the streets and everything connected to life with a video..

People invariably complain there is nothing to shoot in Mumbai and if you open your minds eye let Shiva out there is whole unexplored world out there..and because I shoot with my mouth I am not taken as a serious photographer but a dim wit of a dick head of a photo blogger.


The only person who would call me to talk to his students on the aspect of street photography and photo blogging is Mr Shreekanth Malushte who taught me photography and taught my daughter Samiya too including my kid brother Firdose ..

And because Shreekant Malushteji does not take two years old in his classes I am teaching my grand daughter Marziya Shakir the Art of Unlearning Photography.

My shop help who does not know the ABC of aperture or Fucked F Stops shoots me better than the best photographers off the street..All my pictures are shot by him..

So a bhelpuriwallah can also open a can of worms ..and it takes only a picture to tell you the lifetime story of man ..

Photography is not shooting pictures but adding poetry where no words existed at all.. and you dont have to be a poet to read poetry.. you could read it with your eyes closed too..


And one of the slum kids looked at me proudly in the eye and said Uncle main bi ap ki tarah.. photographer banooga..which means I want to be a photographer like you..

And I wanted to tell him be a photographer , but not like me or you will be broke all your life..

I dont sell pictures I dont sell words..a blogger is a commodity that has not yet reached the the markets of Mumbai..

I make my living stitching up sartorial egos when they begin bursting on the seams ..yes I am a tailor..by default

a tailor made default..

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