I Dont Think You Need A Razor Like Vision To Shoot Barbers ,

ththis is the poetry
of the flesh
seduced by
the razor i saw
trembling skin
the pinch of the
barber as the
razor touches
withdraws
a foamy moment
getting rid of
flaws ,,humble
man the bowed
head stiffening
of his jaws
holistically
healing
a poetic
pause
my tribute
to the selfless
north indian
bhaiyya barber
a migrant held
in fates claws
mayawati madam
built statues
parks but forgot
to create jobs
was the begiinning
end of her loss
father and son
a cosmic cycle
heartless gross
amit shah the new
hope of uttar pradesh
the satrap new boss
the barber bambaiyya
living his dreams
candy floss

carrying his burden
another mans cross

The Barbers Mirror Has Healing Properties

after the haircut

he hands it over

to you his art

his workmanship

you see on its

mirrored wall

are lines of

your destiny

your future

your past

present

it holds

the key

it lets

you be

myseries of your mind

will never cease a

look in the mirror

you are healed

of all disease

the street barber

for this additional

service takes no fees

rs 20 for a haircut

rs 10 for a shave

if you please

street barbers

promoting hope

harmony peace

squatting on his

bent knees ..

a haircut

a karmic

catharsis

release

my shooting barbers and not shooting what you like

should no be held against me in a court of law even

even if are bored shit and displeased ,,

Two Dreamers Shot By My Wife

My wife hates photography , it has usurped much of her happiness ,the obsessive fanatical nature of this hobby the cost of rolls , slides processing printing , and the cost of lens accessories and the Nikon F100 that I bought those days for Rs 75000 and when the film era died tragically of overdose I sold it to a friend for Rs 4500 with 1.4 prime lens ,,and than wife said like wives normally say had you bought me a gold necklace it would have appreciated in cost more than your camera ,, and we are incorrigible irreplaceable middle class.

And what haunts her most is all those thousands of negatives prints lying under our marital solace of a once bedbug infested bed ,,the bugs did not touch the sepulchral sanctity of my pictorial heritage ,,

And my collection of books that she tells me to sell.. a ad in OLX but no buyers ancient books all classics sourced from the various flea markets of Mumbai.

My wife can shoot pictures , and she uses Nerjis and Marziya as her benchmark instead of me , because she says you shoot the same stupid thing time and again, I dare not say she makes me eat the same stupid thing time and again.

Among the photographers who have visited my house Jean Paul , Marc de Clercq , Reza Masoudi , and so many others , she is at home with Glenn treating him like Asif our son, making his bland breakfast , spice less chicken tikkas and dal and biryani.

The Miya hospitality or should I say Shia hospitality with its ancestral roots from Lucknow is unique and my wife a Qazilbash is part Iranian origin.with her fathers Shajra bloodline still on paper ,,

My Naga Guru when he visits my house touches her feet calling her Devi, and this is the atmosphere that she has breathed into our surroundings ..Fr Jaun comes home too chatting in Marathi with her,,,she mutely nods her head .

The only person who admired her was late Mr Vazifdar head priest of the Tata Agiary , and unfortunately he passed away before he could visit our house,, and so whether any person from any community came home my wife saw that he was fully served .

So a house is what the wife makes it. and I am blogging all this directly at Facebook.. My Facebook Blogs,

So we are waiting for Glenn , we make his black Moharam attire , he refuses to wear a dhoti or the pathani suit ,, and the jacket and the woolen Swiss muffler was my gift to him.

Next year Glenn and I will shoot the Nasik Kumbh ,, — with Glenn Losack.

The Barbers Pink Revolution And Why I Shoot Hindu Festivals Feasts

I shot this particular series at Banganga in 2011 and I have shot them like a fanatic , firstly as a street photographer they added a new dimension to expansive street vision , sea of barbers , and the religiosity attached to this Brahaminical ritual, this was a high caste Hindu thing..to the laymen it was merely a ritual on the eve of Navratra.. but for those who took part it meant bunking work, or for the working class North Indian , a loss of his days earnings , so he came here at dawn , got his act together , completed the tonsure and the immersion of the Pind offerings , Pind Dan , and if you wanted to leave Banganga well it was another crazy story jam packed buses , share a taxi fleecing the Bhaiyyas and ironically the taxi driver fleecing the Bhaiyya is a Bhaiyya himself.

I look like a Hindu, dress like one and till date those at Banganga take me for a Shiva Bhakt because of my tiger printed attire turban and exotica.

And I am happy at least as photographer I am showcasing my countryman's spirituality , his emotive state of Mind.

And all this because a Hindu friend seeing me cutting my head on Ashura had taken the zanjir and cut his back I took a vow that as long as I live as a tribute to his mother who gave him birth I will shoot her religion Hinduism as Hope and Hindutva a message of Peace , and among all my albums my own Shiasm about 51000 blogs my Hindu blogs are 58000.

And because I was the first to showcase this ritual on the Internet in 2005 , my picture was used by Wikipedia too.. I talk about Pitru Paksha in Mumbai Banganga , shooting the barbers was incidental or maybe co incidental.

So I continued shooting barbers mystifying their art craft as healers their magic fingers , as healing elements .

And barbers have Shifa .. the Muslim word for holistic healing ,and these are old pictures I am re tweaking as monochrome , this pinkish picture would have looked horrid as a black and white ,, What do you say.. and perhaps these few barbers were from the same Pink Gang..

And this long epistle to all of you is inspired by a Facebook comment.. poets basically need no excuse .be it rhyme or no time ,, words are the soul hidden in silence sublime ,,

My Story of Street Barbers At Banganga Continues

once a year they come

with scissor and comb

for this spiritual rendezvous

a sea of barbers cascading

hair on view ..earning their

livelihood barbers of all

color and hue .the muslim

barber respectfully cutting

the hair of the hindu

pitru paksha prayers to

departed forefathers

hope and hindutva

as a message of peace

both devotee the barber

religiously pursue

passion fervor rituals

intimate sentiments

subdued ..pandits

chanting mantras

pind dan that was

overdue ,, the north

indian migrant ,

religiously tonsured

in a city in which

he grew mumbai

amchi mumbai

gives every man

his due ,,

We Are Both Malangs Of Ali

our eyes closed

as we walk his path

he makes us see

a world beyond

the realms of

mere mortality

yes we are

products of a

chant nade ali

we are healers

through pictures

pathos poetry

your blessings

your prayers

is our eternity

may god keep

you happy safe

ya ali.. love from

nerjis and me

I Fell in Love With This Woman Painted On A Wall

every time i pass her by

she stealthily sees me

with a face hidden beneath

a muslin veil she calls

whispers sweet nothings

this man created lovely

angel of a doll...at times

the poetry of my life

with her languorous

silence she assaults

in my shortcomings

she finds inconsequential

faults ..she wants me to

rise above myself..

but time and again

rebelliously i revolt

a poem a soliloquy

of my vagrant dreams

i must halt ,,