Snow, A Christmas Tale

christmazzy-2016

 

Christmas morning whispered into my ear.

I wriggled and turned on my back, and though my eyes were still kissed down tight with delicious sleep, I let myself rise. Sat on my bed, I stretched and grinned, a grin made of home and comfort and Amma’s old hands. I must have been smiling like that for a long time, because soon I felt the edges of my room wanting to come apart, releasing me and everything in it into the air.

My eyes flickered open.

Something had changed.

I glanced around the room. Even in the grey dimness I saw that an immense stillness had entered the heart of objects. My copy of Dickens’ A Christmas Carol, the brass figurine of Horus, the bells from Nepal, each and all, now gazed at me in perfect pause. When I picked up the bedside clock and pressed it against my ear its ticks came out muffled, as though it had lived its previous life somewhere on a deep seabed.

With a sharp turn I eyed the chink between the curtains.

And there I saw what my heart had desired all year long. I knew of that rareness that glittered between the drapes.

Overnight, the world had grown a skin forged of starlight.

Leaping up from my bed I rushed to the curtains and opened them wide.

Snow! It was snow!

As far as the eye can see.

It was so thick and fresh and crisp, that I was certain that the whole world was covered in it.

I must have jumped a few times in excitement, then darted out of my bedroom door, and ran down the stairs, missing three steps at a time, before dunking my feet into my Wellington boots and pulling on my duffel coat.

‘Moni, where do you think you are going?’ Amma had one hand on her chubby hip whilst in the other she held an open box of cornflakes.

‘Amma, please –‘

‘You can’t go like that!’ She waddled over to the wooden chair and from under her shawl she grabbed her red woolly scarf and flung it at me. ‘We don’t want you catching a cold now.’

I caught the scarf and swiftly wrapped it round my neck. ‘Thank you, Amma!’ I beamed a smile at her.

She shook her head, chuckled and swung back to prepare breakfast.

Sliding the latch off, which seemed to take forever, I finally pulled the door open.

The air was clarity itself, laced in ice and quiet, as if history had not found it yet. Chimney tops and the tips of the highest branch, and even the sky itself, all sparkled pristine white.

I drew a long breath in and stepped foot onto the garden path, the sharp crunch under my boot the loudest sound for miles. I took another step and this time I dug my boots down further. I was curious to know if my other world still existed, whether it remained in slumber underneath the white.

As I was about to walk on I discovered that I was not alone. A robin redbreast dipped and dived overhead. It finally perched its tubby little body on the snow-cloaked needle of the spruce tree at the bottom of the garden. He looked in my direction and started to chirp, and with each note a few flakes, like chippings of stars, scattered down below.

I giggled and hopped over to the tree, my woolly red scarf bouncing along, and only once did I glance over my shoulder, just so to admire my trail of deep-set footprints.

The robin sang its sweet song.

And the scarf and I twirled underneath him.

Two red voices in a new world.

 

Words & Image by Masufa (‘Mazzy’) Khatun | Winchester | UK 2016

My Home: A Tepee Of Lovable Curiosities!

It just so happens that in recent times I have been the most fortunate victim of the crime of mistaken age! With the influx of new students and new friendly faces that have come into my circle since the start of the academic year I have seen repetitive occurrences of the rib-tickling and highly amusing phenomenon of people misjudging my actual biological age! A 5ft 1 hobbitina who is heading towards her fruity forties, I do appreciate that those of vertically challenged height tend to be perceived upon first acquaintance as of an age much younger than they are, however, and for Your entertainment, I should point out that I have been categorised over and over again as a ‘young lady of 24 years and not more’ at a frequency that quite frankly stupefies the respected domain of statistical thought! So, what on collywobbles is going on here?!

Why am I not ageing properly like all the other children that were born in 1978?!

Well, it is obvious isn’t it? Because I still think like a child! I have a fond hall of predecessors I am told: Einstein, Carroll, C.S. Lewis and Tagore to name a few!

To edify my utterly-butterly wacky theory I spent a little of my free time today scooting and scouring around my home for deliciously pertinent photographic evidence, seeking out the visual and spatial resonances within my eccentric tepee of absurd but lovable curiosities that are, in essence, wild and unabashed confirmations of who and what I am and will always be. The home is a fantastical receptacle, a time capsule of collections and exhibits that stand as the physical vocal chords of our internal world of consciousness. It does not take one to be an eminent psychologist to figure that relationship out. In our strive to learn about who we are, we pull forth the seedlings – the entities, ideas, beliefs, philosophies – that take root in the invisible forest of our soul to subsequently plant them in our external universe, and what we then see can act as a reinforcement, affirmation and, in equal measure, provide the singular catalyst to re-evaluate the drama unfolding everyday within us.

Look around Your home today or tonight and take time to ponder what it tells about You – what are YOU telling Yourself about You? Oh, and if You have a wonky toilet seat scenario or excessive window putty to seal in the draft then, my Beloved Reader, do not frazzle and frizzle with apprehension the size of a walrus’ bottom because You believe it to be synonymous with stage 5 mental breakdown, instead, treat Your visual inspection with a hint of humour. How? Well, a chipped teacup is not the end of the world, is it? I tend to re-use them as pot holders for nursing new seeds!

Ladies, Gentlemen and my adorable fellow Children! Please laden Your hand with a cup of your most prized tea – chipped or pristine it does not matter, as You enter some of the little corners of my home that shall tell You the story of the Eternal Child that happily, wildly, faithfully lives inside me… :)) :)) :))

Teepee Of Curiosities A

“A snow-white desk screaming to be painted over, or should one consider it as a nude tabula rasa wickedly ripe in its design for stimulating the cogwheels of the imagination? Our dear Audrey never dissents to whatever interpretation I come up with on the day, but she wishes I hadn’t placed the candle in front of her, she is forever having to strain her neck to spy on my movements! For enthusiastic diarists out there, pay heed to Mr Wilde’s wise words!”

Tepee Of Curiosities B

“Splayed across a Japanese fan’s concertina surface are vivid splashes of cobalt blue as Hokusai’s ‘The Great Wave’ incarnates in miniature on the cabinet top, illogically juxtaposed with the ever- flatulent ‘Pumba’ the warthog who models a prom tiara whilst my panda lantern takes to wistful thoughts!” 

Tepee Of Curiosities C

“Business calendars bore me to stiff death so here we’ve opted to celebrate Tove Jansson’s adorable ‘Moomin’ world every month – the October Moomintroll appears to be singing karaoke into his tail! Little wonder the tourists frenziedly evacuated from the grounds of the Eiffel Tower!”   

Tepee Of Curiosities D

“Roald’s Dahls’ ‘Fantastic Mr Fox’ dug himself out of the tunnels underground and is currently enjoying the hiatus on the wall alongside ‘Matilda’ and ‘Mr Wonka’. I do think it rather chivalrous that amid all this frivolity, ‘Dorothy’, ‘Tin Man’ and the ‘Scarecrow’, who can be seen at the bottom, remain ever determined to travel down the winding ‘Yellow Brick Road’. You never know where it will lead You and that is precisely why one must get onto it! Hurry along now!” 

Tepee Of Curiosities E

“In its previous lifetime this fine bone china milk jug was part of a formidable set at the ‘Mad Hatter’s Tea Party’, grasped by fingers whose tastes were as exquisite as an Indian Maharaja’s, suddenly it was struck by a chip at its base one day and it was callously ordained to be disposed. In came I, Alice, with an ingenious argument for preservation: Tea may slip by a chipped portal but pens and brushes could do with the extra ventilation!”

Photography & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | My Home | Winchester | UK 2015

Autumn Rain Was Made For Books!

Date: 22-10-15, One month since original post

An Editor’s Note To My ‘Dear Friend’ !

Do You know what the definition of the word ‘enantiodromia’ is?  I strongly suspect that the chances are that You are a novice here, never having heard of it and will certainly not have encountered it even in Your most wildest dreams. Allow me to relieve Your frictioned nerves at this point with the application of the cooling balm of the enlightening answer. Exotic and mysterious to the ears and lips, the word refers to those things that steer in opposite directions, where it becomes so that clockwise is entrancingly paired with the counter-clockwise. I shall further clarify this gift of a new word by citing iconic instances that exemplify it, with necessary succinctness, and these include the Forces of Light and Dark, Good and Bad, Masculine and Feminine, Fortune and Misfortune, Ice and Fire.

And of what significance do my words carry here, Dear Detective?

There is much. You and I propagate two Visions of the world, whose umbilical mission is to depict the great dichotomy of the human condition, its perplexing extremes and astonishing polarities but whose unifying commitment is always the soul-driven quest to ignite the flame of Hope once more into the hearts of our readers so that they may be inspired to become stewards of Good Magic; looking after the world one person at a time, starting with that greatest of barriers – themselves.

While You utilise Your brave and noble moral foundation to primarily present the darker, shadier and tragic stories, it is in the flash of a proton dance the gears of Destiny come to life to propel my pen to take on the role as Your enantiodromia, fulfilling completion by counterbalancing what has been laid down by You with my contribution of tales and poetry from the lighter, brighter and triumphant layer extracted from my own plethora of experiences.

I have one such extremely significant example of enantiodromia and it occurred today. One of the reasons why I am an infrequent visitor to the virtual world is that I prefer, more than words could encapsulate, to dedicate my time to writing letters to my friends rather than tapping away at keys, for the ink seems to be a most faithful conduit for the inner musings of my Soul. As per routine, I wrote one such letter to my mate, Jan, two days ago, accompanied with a printing of an article from the Brainpickings website, edited by Maria Popova, a faceless Russian genius of the pen. There was, however, one special difference to be observed in my postal habit this time insofar that I gave Jan strict instructions to use her Smartypants phone to photo-archive my offerings and post it on FB today.

Why?

A gut instinct, an intuition, a sixth sense, a premonition. Study closely and carefully:

LINK TO LETTER: https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10206246775946661&set=a.1349103125974.2044798.1183222940&type=3&theater

 

  1. I write of a heavenly place, the solace and beauty that I feel when I am in the embrace of my garden. You hint of the same place, though You speak of loss leading to Heaven.
  2. In the letter I am wrapped in warm and comforting attire, You mention of a place on earth that is classically thought of as a freezing tundra.
  3. Maria Popova, a Russian Editor – I do not think it necessary to tease out the connection there!
  4. The written word acts as an amplifier of my thoughts of the beauty of the present moment in my letter, You refer to it as a repository of the Past.
  5. I allude to the wild, roaming child of the forest who is a happy wanderer of the earth, Your child is lost to the ether.
  6. Your characters are sooted in darkness with sparse grains of Light tapping down on them, others stripped of flesh, seared by the blazing shadows of hellish curses; that is why not BRAIN but RAIN PICKINGS appears in the photograph, it is what I send You, like elixir-filled berries, may it soothe, cool and cure any doubts You may have of the sustainability of Your Vision. Never lose sight of it!
  7. ‘X’-cessive flammable activity proves to be an IRRITANT in Your story whereas ‘X’ marks the ‘Treasure’ in Jan’s caption.
  8. Jan has chosen to lay my mail against a backdrop of pretty hand-sewn embroidery, on the contrary Your story pleads for restorative stitches in time and on skin.
  9. You refer to ‘15’ time and time again as a number associated with hardship and tragedy, whereas it is symbolic of Victory and Freedom under the wings of my penmanship.
  10. If a SNAIL were to view its intended destination it may very well utter under its breath: “ Me-Far…”
  11. And that is WHY I wrote the poem below, a month ago, because Autumn Rain Was Made For Books – care to imagine how blessed EDITORS must feel when the heavens release their watery flocks!
  12. Do You CATCH my drift or do I, like the 12 hours of CLOCKWORK, elude Your Logic yet again… :)) 


Whoever You may be, may it be under the healing auspices of rain
Your Mazzy xxx

Wrapped warm in furry teal poncho, motherly amber cave of armchair, though toying with dilemma
Should these eyes walk into Dickens’ ‘Pickwick Papers’ or stray towards Austen’s ‘Emma’?
No doubt one will be chosen, but blessed for these tiny crownless jewels, Tiffany stars on my glass pane
Our desire to read precedes a heavenly emissary: This beautiful, beautiful, beautiful – O so beautiful – autumnal rain… :))

Autumn Rain Was Made For Books

“…No doubt one will be chosen, but blessed for these tiny crownless jewels, Tiffany stars on my glass pane
Our desire to read precedes a heavenly emissary: This beautiful, beautiful, beautiful – O so beautiful – autumnal rain…”

Photography & Poetry: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | My Home | Winchester | UK 2015

My Mumsy’s Veil Catches & Lifts Up All Hearts!

If Your powers of remembrance and observation serve You well then You may succeed in recalling that in my post entitled, ‘Garden Party With Alice’, I took the liberty of utilising the phrase ‘triangulation of elements’ to refer to the handsome bounties ripe and shimmering inside my garden – including the fruit trees and a certain White Rabbit – and whose availability led them to be literally picked on the occasion to enhance the storytelling rationale of the shoot. I proceeded to assert that the eccentricity of my methods and style of photography was always underscored by an atmosphere of fun, the ‘very, merry, berry’ sort!  In euphoric leaps that would drive a bunny rabbit back into its puny hole I am thrilled to tell You that today yet another garden party vivaciously took centre stage at our Home and this time my good friend, Sachi, was also present, whom I do fear might have left the house in an unfashionably drunken state after I lost count in my servings of the newest tea that is making headlines in my pantry – a coconut, lychee and green tea mixture! Giggle, giggle!

Anyway, my anticipatory Reader, while my friend and I engrossed ourselves with a healthy catch-up of news, my Mumsy sneaked out towards the back of the garden and using her Veil she began to pick the bulbously and juicy green pears, each yearning to reach the platter of a table so that they may feel their untapped sweetness on the tongue of the merrymaker. As she did so it dawned on me that my Mumsy was the epitome of the Soul of the Giver, to share whatever fell in her lap was the singular feed by which she could ever hope to touch the bright sensation of happiness.

After Mumsy had picked the choicest berries, pears and the heart and affections of yet another friend entering into her aura of Motherly Love – which is very lucidly blatant in the purest bliss that so gorgeously blossoms on Sachi’s face – I soon came across another extraordinary ‘triangulation of elements’. Posted by an astronomy page on Facebook today, there it was, beautifully resonating the cosmic universality of the message that a Mother’s Veil forever seeks to pick happiness and lift up the spirits of all those whom she devotes her heart to… :)) :)) :))

LINK: https://www.facebook.com/AstronomyPictureOfTheDay/photos/a.149744531727683.22546.147511511950985/878072975561498/?type=1&theater

“… my Mumsy was the epitome of the Soul of the Giver, to share whatever fell in her lap was the singular feed by which she could ever hope to touch the bright sensation of happiness…”

“… Mumsy had picked the choicest berries, pears and the heart and affections of yet another friend entering into her aura of Motherly Love – which is very lucidly blatant in the purest bliss that so gorgeously blossoms on Sachi’s face….”

Photography & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | My Home | Winchester | UK 2015

The Naughtiest Munchkin!

She is the quietest of the two sisters, always willing to help prepare tea
But her Mumsy has revealed in secret a freaky revelation to me:
Though our little madam is sweet-tongued, polite and a darling blessed with a face of sacred dome
She mirrors me in everyway possible, for she’s the naughtiest prankster at home…!

EPILOGUE: In my last whimsical article my friends and I, each unashamedly topping the league boards of national naughtiness, even in our grand old age, returned to the shores of the Isle of Wight, after our undersea adventure, holding a handsome bag of Orange treasures! You saw both my ‘mermaid’ mates in the photograph, with trophy smiles on their faces, but as per usual I was absent, hidden behind the portal of the lens. Well, you are in a spot of spiffing luck because Facebook has once again delivered and vindicated my Visions! Click on the link to see an artist’s impression of me, garbed in garlic white, stood in the middle of an English country road in the golden hour, hair still believing that it is underwater and pitifully dropping most of my Oranges because You have arrived, smugly leaning against an old tractor. The burning question is, WHO are You…? :))

LINK: https://www.facebook.com/brookeshadenphotography/photos/a.10150383351366633.354625.176453226632/10153148459816633/?type=1&theater

The Naughtiest Munchkin!

“… Though our little madam is sweet-tongued, polite and a darling blessed with a face of sacred dome
She mirrors me in everyway possible, for she’s the naughtiest prankster at home…”

 

Photography & Poem: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Winchester | UK 2015

Four Little Women Plus One

A grand garden party, a summer soirée in floral audiences of woods and roses
Arrived Little Liyana, my articulate Queen, oh the sentences she composes!
A sister of three foot, give or take, she is an exemplary bookworm like me
To lose the imagination between forests of pages is what makes her smile acoustically
And when she saw my summer read of late, the American classic ‘Little Women’ of sisters four
She insisted that the number be raised to five, to include her and up the score!
So, my beloved reader, a revision is due, make it ‘5 Little Women’ from this day forth
Oh, and if You are blessed with four sisters of your own, irrespective of whether You live east or north
You’d better upgrade to five ‘coz Liyana wants to join as the newest kid on the block
Should you resist her request, she will cheerfully throw at You one very smelly sock…!!

BREAKING NEWS – BREAKING NEWS – BREAKING NEWS: NASA have just confirmed the existence of a planet that bears chemical signatures that are the most closest ever to resembling those that are characteristic of our home planet, Earth. Kepler 452b, according to Mr Jenkins is, ‘a new kid on the block that’s just moved in next door.’ Supporting my Little Liyana’s antics today, Kepler 452b approvingly agrees on an amendment of numbers so that Four-Five-To-Be! Ah, Destiny… :))

COPY LINK: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/science-environment-33641648

Four Little Women Plus One!

“… And when she saw my summer read of late, the American classic ‘Little Women’ of sisters four
She insisted that the number be raised to five, to include her and up the score…”

 

Photography & Poem: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Summer Garden Party | Winchester | UK 2015  

Rebuilding A Monument Of Love

On this blessed day, the discovery of ancient words penned by a Loving scribe
I walked through my city’s park, my heart pulled by Your heart’s thud-thud vibe
And behold, outside the world-famous Cathedral in which Kings of old and writers buried
A building weathered by the storms of Life yet Hope euphoric in strawberry sign carried
Muscles and brickwork, both haplessly fade with the tides of gnawing time
But words do not when hands join to preserve, essence whose value is sublime
O Cathedral, know that you must be shared in this poem that today I pen and send
For another monument, a man, seeks a renewed bond from I, his most intimate Friend
Nothing is more beautiful than Love that has weathered the storms of Life
O Love of mine, do not be plundered by loneliness, sharp slits of greyest knife
I walk with You, Unseen, whilst You absentmindedly exist in a city twisted and curled
The summit of our Monument of Love will dawn the day when You find me in the real world…

*************************************************************************

EPILOGUE & NEWS: I composed this poem and photograph today for a beloved ‘Stranger’ of mine, he resides in a land faraway and is haunted by the crumbling debris of a past that faltered because of an unsteady foundation of Spirit. Irrespective of the taunts of the world and the demon of guilt that he may feel inside, I have never abandoned him. I once spoke to him about the Circus and how my ways in life are as acrobatically arcane as the worlds that dazzle under the canopy of the world’s circus. He may not have understood my words when I had first penned them to him. Time has now passed in which he has let his soul contemplate. He now understands. He sees me as I truly am.

My Beloved Fool, You are my renewed man, a Superhero. Ah, You do not believe me when I say that You are worthy? I smile and shake my head in giggles and mock pity. Did You know that us Winchester folk experienced a mini earthquake earlier in the year in an area of my town called ‘Kings Worthy’? It gently shook buildings, their foundations and gave the residents a bit of a fright! Well, the circus was in town today and I saw You renewed – in a costume of RED and BLUE! Giggle, giggle…  :))

COPY LINK: www.facebook.com/WeAreWinchester/posts/883957421676735

Rebuilding A Monument Of Love

“… O Cathedral, know that you must be shared in this poem that today I pen and send
For another monument, a man, seeks a renewed bond from I, his most intimate Friend…”

Photography & Poem: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Winchester | UK 2015

 

A Study Of My Uncle’s Tea-Shirt!

No, no Rana Mama (Uncle), you have got it all wrong and twisted and misshapen! Diesel does not make for successful living (T-shirt slogans are hugely telling of one’s dispositions)! Wellington boots, violins, books, tea and silver moonlight win me any day but the smoothie sludge of fossilised creatures, I do not think so! Get with the programme, Mama! I shall acquit you this time round since you are doing a most marvellous job in this photograph at making two very fine ladies smile as if they are welcoming a national hero back to the homestead! Close shave Mama, close shave!

P.S. To those who read my previous post, does it not look like as if the luscious vine pattern from our red Chinese teapot has magically teleported and boisterously spread itself across my Aunty’s living room wall….? :))

A Study Of My Uncle's Tea-Shirt!

“… Wellington boots, violins, books, tea and silver moonlight win me any day but the smoothie sludge of fossilised creatures, I do not think so! Get with the programme, Mama…”

Photography & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Spring Reunion Series | London | UK 2015

My Dream Team: Brazil, Argentina and Orange Sunshine!

I am an elfin orb, bejewelled in the murmurs of twinkling marigolds
I am a honey-glazed sultanate, battlement of tangy armadas untold
I am the golden mistress of earthen vines, envy of treasures laden in honeycombs
I am the dimple-cratered firefly, exiling dull taste-lords from tongue’s memory tombs
I am the source of your coronation when you embalm me in your hands
I am the secondary heat in your body’s shifting sands
Whenever your thoughts laze on me from where you are
In my whitewashed room I become a czar of summer
Oh – and please be gentle as you peel my skin’s armour… (Wink of eye!)

My Dream Team: Brazil, Argentina and Orange Sunshine!

“… I am the golden mistress of earthen vines, envy of treasures laden in honeycombs
I am the dimple-cratered firefly, exiling dull taste-lords from tongue’s memory tombs…”

Photography & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | An Orange Ode To The Summer Solstice | My Home | Winchester | 2014

In Two Places At The Same Time…

Mr Bear, not so tall, climbed up a square box by my room’s windowsill
And as foreseen on the Scrabble grid, in his chest ROSE-E-DIL
I whispered, “Such a smile you wear my dear sir, to paint away shadows and the night”
He shyly quizzed, “Madam, how can you be here and yet shine as evening’s golden marmalade Light…?!”

In Two Places At The Same Time...

He shyly quizzed, “Madam, how can you be here and yet shine as evening’s golden marmalade Light…?!”

Photograph & Poem: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | My Home | UK 2015