it doesnt matter why i was there. air steril, sheets stained. doesnt matter that i was hooked up to a thing that buzzed and beeped everytime my heart leaped like a man whos faith tells him gods hands are big enough to catch an airplane, or a world. doesnt matter i was curled up like a fist, protesting death with every breath through hard labour, hard time. doesnt matter, because my hospital roommate wore dinosaur pajamas. hes nine years old. his name is klemens. i dont have to ask what hes got. the bald head with the skin and bone frame speaks volumes. the gameboy and the feather pillows trying to make him feel at home, because hes going to be here a while. i meant to smile the first time i saw him but it felt like the biggest lie i ever told so i hold my breath, because im thinking any minute now hes gonna call me on it. but my fear subsides, the moment i realise klemens is all show and tell. hes got everything from a shotgun shell to a crows foot, and he can put them all in context. like see,this is from a shooting range, and see, this is from a weird girl. i watch his hands curl around a cuffling and i realise that ever nick nack is a treasure and every treasure has got a stor, and everytime i think i can handle more he hits me with another story. see this is from my mother, see this is from my father, see this is from my brother, see that is from that weird girl. took me about two days to realise that, that weird girl, is his sister. took him about two hours after she left to figure out that he missed her. they visit every day and stay well past visiting hours, because for them, that term doesnt apply. when they do leave, klemens and i are left alone and he says: the worst part about being sick is that you get all the free ice cream you ask for. and the worst part about that is realising that theres nothing else they can do for you. theres no easy way of asking, i already know what hes gonna say, maybe he just needs to say it, so i ask him anyway: are you scared? klemens doesnt even lower his voice when he says" fuck yeah". i listen to a nine year old boy say the word "fuck", like it was a 30 year old man with a nose bleed being lowered into a shark tank, hes got a right to it. and if it takes this kid a curse word to help him get through this, then i wanna teach him to swear like the devil himself is sitting there taking notes with a pen and and pad but before i can forget that klemens is nine years old he says: "please dont tell my dad" he asked me if i believed in angels. and before i realise i dont have the heart to tell him, i tell him: "not lately." and i just lay there waiting for him to hate me, but he doesnt know how to, so he never does. klemens loves like a man who lived in the time before god gave religion to man and let them figure out what hate was. and he greets me with silence, only smiles in a patience ive never seen in someone who knows theyre dying. ive been with him for 5 days, and all i really know is that klemens loves to pull feathers out of his pillow and watch them float to the ground, almost as if hes the philosopher inside the scientist ready to say: "its gravity, thats been getting us down." the truth is, theres not enough miracles to go round,kid and theres too many people petitioning god for the winning lotto ticket, and for every answered prayer, theres a cricket with arthritis and the only reason we cant find answers? is because the search party didnt invite us. so we must meet silence, with the same level of noise that the parents of dying nine year old boys make when the take liberties in talking with heaven, we must shout. until we shatter in our own vibrations. so we know that as far as our efforts go, we dont always get a reply. but i swear to god, for the time ive got left, im gonna remember you kid. im gonna tell your stories as often as you told me and everytime i tell it ill say : "see, theres bravery in this world! theres 6.5 billion people curled up like fists protesting death, but every breath we take has to be given back, a nine year old boy taught me that." so hold your breath. the same way youd hold a pen when writing thank you letters to every tree that gave you that breath to hold. then let it go. as if you understand something about getting old and having to give back. let it go like a laugh attack in the middle of really good sex. the black eye will be worth it. because what is your night worth without a story to tell? like i accept any challenge so challenge me! like i brought a knife to this gun fight but yesterday i mugged a mountain, so bring that shit, ive got practice! klemens and i cracked this world wide open, found the prize inside and never lied to ourselves, never told ourselves it would be easy or not demanding, never dreamt of anyone ever handing us anything, so we sing in our own vibrations. so gods hands take their time to

178,533 items / 1,400,102 views I am called the Hindu Shia by my detractors simply because I shoot Hinduism and I am proud of it I d rather be a Hindu Shi than be anything else ,I dress like them and perhaps my body language is more Hindu than Muslim , I dont sport a beard I dont wear short pajamas or a long kurta I dont have the namaz mark on my forehead but because of the furrows on my head due to Kama matam in memory of Hazrat Imam Hussain the deep gashes and a bit of gray matter I cover my head with a turban.. I dont wear the quintessential Muslim cap at all. Because my blogs are hijracentric and I enjoy shooting them gets on the goat of my own community bigots too..does not really affect me at all I am what I am I blog so I am . I shoot Goddess Maryama feast every year thanks to my Tamil friends far too many Davendar Velu the high priest of the Juhu Maryamma temple are the main ones. The next on the list are Ganesh head priest of Mahim fisherman's colony Maryamma temple , his family and his sister Laxmi. And the hijda Krishna in the picture in the blue sleeveless tshirt. In Sion Dharavi it is the cheek piercer Raja and a young Punjabi boy who pierces his cheeks too Sam. I was too pierce my cheeks with a 18 feet road but the head priest told me to wait for another year I might do it this year so show my solidarity with these Hindu Tamils my best friends and who respect my religiosity as much as I respect their own. I shall walk with the rod as a follower of Hussain.. no other spiritual motive whatsoever.. I have shot this feast very similar to Thaipussam and gone into a trance too at the Mahim beach during the rod piercings.. This is an incredible feast I shoot it barefeet and most of the Tamils treat me like their brother.. At Sion Koliwada last year I shot the hijra piercing his cheek..and this was the best moment for me as it became a part of hijra blogs at Flickr.com. This was a blank post I have added text just now.. The puja and the piercings on the beach either at Worli Mahim or Juhu start not before goat and poultry sacrifice.. this is a very hardcore bloody moment.. Last year the Juhu Marayamma festival did not take place as the Temple is being rebuild. It will be held this year I was told by Davendar my friend. And I wait for it eagerly last year my friend Marc De Clercq from Ghent shot it too along with his friends. And the one person who would love t shoot this event is my dear friend Dr Glenn Losack MD.