The bottom of the sudrah which reaches below his hips, is unevenly scrunched up and crumpled. Around his waist is his kashti obsessively wound thrice around and obsessively fastened with reef knots. Mind you, nothing else will do! He and his ilk will give you absurd reasons for the meaning to the knots, and the winding round three times, but this meaning has been ascribed by man. If for a brief moment, I concede that meanings were given by the prophet, i will call the prophet not a prophet because he has not prophesied anything really, he was just at best a wise man using symbolism to maintain order in a turbulent time in history. There is zero relevance today.
Firoze has a paghri on his head which indicates that he is a mobed, and that he is standing outside one of the three agiaries scattered around, lends credence to this.
There is a gold chain around his neck reaching half way down his chest with an asho farohar pendant on it. The asho farohar is to remind the poor unintelligent human that he is to unite with the Lord. Now a priest needs a reminder! What does that tell you of the level of evolution of the minds of most priests?
Firoze, for that is his name for me, has pale fair skin, a bent nose, jowly cheeks though he is skinny, and rather big ears. I am appalled that he is standing on a public road in what constitutes a parsi male's underwear.
In blase` Mumbai nobody gives him a second glance except my favourite photographer, my wicked hubby with a deft trigger happy finger.
Firoze has a vapid look on his face, a spaced outlook in his eyes and professes to be of the priestly class. A priest, if they should be allowed at all to exist, needs a fine mind, a super brain, to be intellectually evolved to give solace, but shackled as they are by dogma, fetishism, literalism, the idiocy of priestcraft they can only mumble prayers in a language they do not follow, whose meaning they do not know, and really, help nobody.