Char-Lotte’s Char-kas Timely Update! Congratulations To The West Indies: The Pirates Of The Caribbean!
On the 5-3-2016 I woke up with the distinct necessitation to reawaken an old post from the unfrequented archives of my Facebook files that I had composed five years ago, that is 5-3-2011. A sweet tingling in my gut and a whiff of tropical fruits in the air, or so I imagined – including my customary cherished one of the Orange, of course – led me to that post wherein there contained a most seductive and quintessentially roguish portrait of my Captain Jack Sparrow, the notorious pirate of the Caribbean stood calmly on the helm of his coveted ship, The Black Pearl. His Rastafarian locks dangled with beads and his faraway eyes firmly entranced by the first light of a new shore, I secretly chose this photograph for a special reason. It was a comical but sincere message of what I had wished for and that was targeted towards a gathering of Asian Aunties!
On 5-3-2016 I observed that many in the Bangladeshi circle raced to change their Facebook profile photograph to show their support for the Bengal Tigers in the upcoming cricket tournament, conversely I turned the other way and wished not to make any show of my inner convictions. I am not subservient to the fancies of Facebook and also, I could feel that the Victors would be not be my Mother nation. Not this time.
England was battered and bruised today, both on the field and in the weather we experienced here at home, however I would not wish to dim down the truth of the matter and that is that they played honourably and I am proud of my home nation’s efforts, especially since they attempted to recover and restore their position after their rickety tempo in the first innings of the play.
On the other hand, I am stupendously euphoric for the Caribbean team, led by Captain Darren Sammy – no, I refer not my friend Sammy! – who, in the end, truly deserved to walk away with the trophy. Yes, I admit without reservation or dismay that in the eyes of many a England fan they are as like unscrupulous pirates, who crept away with the loot and with a fierce bang left quaking in their trail.
I beg to ardently disagree. Borders between nations are humdrum notions, as trifle and arbitrary in my considerations as the cobwebs that grace the ceilings of houses in the autumn. I shall always honour great sportsmanship and never stoop so low as to take attempts to defile or defame the opposition.
To all the major Asian gatherings that may have kindly mustered tonight in waiting for my reappearance in the virtual world, thank YOU so very much, how extremely thoughtful a gesture and it does now feel as if You are all determined to have me married off! GIGGLE, GIGGLE! ♥ I cannot believe and yet I can, that the Universe is being compressed ever so gently in swaying the odds in my favour. ♥
Whom do I speak of?
He is the rogue of my dreams, my very own weary sailor man who is every bit scruffy as he is maddening to the winds, and unfailingly to the ends of the world he is infallibly a noble man. I cannot see his face, only that I am certain his existence manifests in the very pulse that is a wave to my tiny wrists. Ah, when shall doth set sail to England, to walk on my island and stand in front of my homestead, my beloved scallywag of the seas? ♥
For the meanwhile, let us all raise a terrific toast of char to the Caribbean Pirates who brilliantly scored char straight sixes at the very last, who rightfully beat England with char wickets, and, I should think quite plausible, who would have not held back the temptation to travel back in time to tell the Victorian me, a writer in the Yorkshire moors by the name of Char-lotte, just how monumentally significant the pieces in my name would become someday… ♥♥♥
Photograph 5-3-11 accessed by FB LINK: https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=151120261615201&set=a.151120258281868.32038.100001516838468&type=3&theater
Photography & Commentary Originally Posted On Facebook 5-3-11
Screen Shot Courtesy Of BBC Sport 3-4-16
Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | UK 2016
It is an explicit and unequivocal preference of mine that if I should embark on travel, grand or minor, my Poppins’ carpet bag must bestow residency to the companionship of a cherished book! I feel almost out of sorts, careening towards giddy disorientation even, if when I sit on that train or settle down in a plane and open my bag to discover that though it is generously filled with all manner of conveniences, there remains the staring and piercing void wherein a book ought to have occupied and thus my spirits are then pushed to a terrible waning and my searching eyes not relieved by the thick mustiness of a trusty tome, I am given over to the most annoying case of the fidgets!
England battered and bruised with gusty gales and clouds today, whose dullness was smudged out of the most morbid and greyest charcoal, I arrived home this evening after another social gathering and pondered deep and hard which book to take with me on my next set of adventures, and as the wind howled through the doors and windows and the trees swung and flung without mercy, it immediately became apparent to me that Destiny had chosen to paint the very iconic elemental landscape of the windswept Yorkshire Moors and so famous a terrain associated with the northern shires of England. There is no other story quite so reflexive in its ability to thrust itself into the imagination so as to feel such atmosphere and sense of place than that of Charlotte Brontes’ epic masterpiece of True Love, ‘Jane Eyre’.
Jane and I are of the same moral and passionate constitution, independent and outgoing spirits that favour a life that is authentic in reflection to our inner values, where moral conviction and the right to exercise one’s own free will are of paramount importance to the contentment of the soul. I have before in an article delineated the narrative framework of this great tale of gothic romance so I shall not suffer You the gross tedium of repetition and, indeed, if You are strong-willed enough to elevate the particulars of Your curiosity to the next level then, please be my guest, and locate Yourself a copy of the text and read it from the start to the end in the week or so that I am absent from the virtual world. I should like to very well know of Your thoughts relating to the character trajectory Jane endures and of how she resolves the unseen inner conflicts hoisted upon her by the sudden entrance into her life made by the devoted, dark Byronic hero and her true love, Mr Edward Rochester. So sorry to burden You, however a good teacher always sneaks in homework before she vanishes off into the horizon, for learning is a life-long pursuit! Giggle, giggle! ♥
I shan’t be travelling alone, of course, and there are many friends to meet and places to explore, so it would be wise of You to assume at this point that my handy journal and fountain pen will be neatly packed alongside. I pray that I shall be able to recount to You at least some of the stories that await my tread, and no doubt that, thanks to the ever reliable phenomenal mechanics of Destiny and Quantum Entanglement, whatever unfolds before me in the following week and that which shall later turn to tale, I am certain that it will bear out a tremendous significance to You to which You cannot turn a blind eye to. It has always been so, because, as Mr Rochester, whom so impassionate in plea, once had declared to Jane:
“I have for the first time found what I can truly love – I have found you. You are my sympathy –my better self – my good angel – I am bound to you with a strong attachment. I think you good, gifted, lovely: a fervent, a solemn passion is conceived in my heart; it leans to you, draws you to my centre and spring of life, wrap my existence about you – and, kindling in pure, powerful flame, fuses you and me in one.” – Mr Edward Rochester
I suppose when I am on my little adventures I will have made this heart of mine bathe in the gladness whose variety is the hue of marmalade, for in my carpet bag I will after all have something of Your essence, enshrined in Bronte’s vision of Mr Rochester, and that does sound awfully amusing and absurd. But I think this only goes to show that a life without the ever attention-sucking smarty pants phone establishes, in its stead, my days to be wonderfully permeated with breathtaking romance, where imagination gives free and joyful reign to the colours and textures that live in my mind, releasing them with free will so that the arc of the stories that I create usher You nearer and nearer to my heart than any self-portrait of mine could ever accomplish.
I shall attempt to return one last time tomorrow to the virtual world before setting off on my new series of trips, so if there are any words or pictures that You wish for me carry in my legendary Poppins carpet bag, next to the fiery and dark pulse of Mr Rochester, then by all means I shall welcome Your renouncing of the hound of custom and reticence, and to come forward bravely with whatever Your soul pleases to lay before my sight. I, of course, consider You, my dearest Reader, a good benefactor of my dreams, and God knows that continuous are my thoughts for Your well-being and happiness, even if I have taken to be the elusive and hidden elf of Your virtual world.
Let us end this story on a lighter note! Here is what I would have said to my dearest Mr Rochester in response to his intense and amorous imploration to accept his declaration of love:
“Know that You are as profound to my Soul as I am to Yours. Yes, I cannot grasp why the Universe would ever want to exact such a vengeful and torturous curse upon the both of us so to imprison You in one body, and I in the other. What cruel malice is this partition of the Indivisible, or might God have churned our Destinies like so to appease some higher purpose? But is it not so that this very God also cajoles the entire orchestration of Nature to make us feel as though we are as painfully close as skins in pining touch? No matter the beast of distance, whose growls obscure the my visibility of You, I do not depend on these watery orbs of flesh to see You, my Love. My eyes are unlike the mundane and though they are treacherously blind and never have Your face revealed and reflected off its waters, God plots each day a beautiful compression into the fabric of existence, and that is why I feel I am coming nearer to You, one breath at a time. There is a thread that exudes from my Soul to Yours, a simple thread as unpretentious as the carpenter’s wood, and now that I am going away, You shall only come closer, for if one end should be tugged then it follows that the other end, far from moving in the opposite direction, natures only more greater towards it. Yes, we should have been born in One body…” – Mazzy ♥
LINK: In commemoration of the 200th anniversary of the birth of Jane Eyre’s author, Charlotte Bronte, The Guardian recently published one illustrator ‘s interpretation of select scenes from the book, drawn with their characteristic penchant for creating haunting and memorable images. What I was quick to clock in to in this particular illustration was the lucidity of Jane’s red dress against the greyish palette of the canvas, the melding of the orange flames of each candle to become as One to signify the awesome might of True Love, and, of course, how could I omit my observation of the peculiar Orange ball resting on the plate, marmalade in its most primal form. I have no reservation in concluding that I am part of a legendary Love Story and it shall always exceed all oppression so as to ‘bear out at the edge of doom…’ ♥♥♥
Photography & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Winchester | 2016