An Interview With Miss Sophiya By Aunty Mazzy Rey!

My most ardent Reader & Mr Chubby Cheeks ♥ 

It is my lunch hour and it so happens that I have a laptop by my side so before I gallivant off to attend to other fiddly businesses of the day – the classroom is a never-ending but delightful theatre of surprises – I shall gift You with another round of humorous vitamins to serve the needs of the old brain cells! Do not forget those ever critical Admiral Telescopes, I should not want to be dishonourably sued for permanently damaging Your retinal carpet! Giggle-wriggle!

TEACHER’S HOMEWORK ASSIGNMENT: Pick any question that was recently asked to a high profile politician and pose it in the same fashion to Your little hobbit. Ensure You have a camera, pen and notebook handy to comprehensively document the resultant reaction. For those reeling from the exhaustion of the world’s backwardness, I think You will discover it is a most enlightening and refreshing exercise!

May the Force be with You – but beware of flatulent foxes, the ginormous expulsion of air originating from the ‘elementary canal’ of such a creature can violently shake off cosmetic wigs! Giggle, giggle!
Your dimpled Ray of Light, Mazzy xxx

An Interview With Miss Sophiya

“I shall gift You with another round of humorous vitamins to serve the needs of the old brain cells…”

Photography & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Birmingham | Midlands | UK 2015 

Advertisements

School Is Out!

Before he whizzed out of class a portrait did I snap up of the ever determined Mr Footie
Victoriously passing all tests I fanned at him, unquestionably he deserves a cookie
Which I did bestow on him and on all my other stellar Special Ed chaps
And to You, my admirable reader, I implore You dish out the jubilant claps!
What You may not have gathered was the risky business of taking this shot
For I am 5ft 1 and Mr Footie is 7ft – as tall as the mast of a yacht!
So how did I achieve this eye-to-eye composition You annoyingly ask me?
To answer You must release the flotsam of the mind’s conventional debris
I am a Red Fairy of Bengal, born with wings that flutter stardust
They heave me towards the blue sky, farewell to the earth’s crust!
When gifts of this unorthodox kind are under one’s sleeves
No height is unconquerable, I can float above tree leaves
Oh, and like all my portrait offerings I am present in the frame
Invisible to the eye but as luminescent as a flamenco flame
I live in the faces of those that I admire most in my life’s story
Gaze thoughtfully and You shall see my echo, ‘tis really no mystery!
Backdrop of emerald greens, a twinkle in the eye, warm honey smile poised to the left side
Via the conduit of my student I send You a comforting glance – Love from Your guiding Bride…

BREAKING NEWS – BREAKING NEWS – BREAKING NEWS: C-A-T me if You can! Well, the peeping cats at Lick Observatory will join alliance with the just announced Breakthrough Listen Project, a revitalization of the scientific study and search for intelligent life in the Universe! The pursuit of the Unseen – I would imagine You are already underway with Your own version of this project… :))

LINK:  http://astronomynow.com/2015/07/21/lick-observatory-joins-search-for-intelligent-life-in-the-universe/

School Is Out!

“… Backdrop of emerald greens, a twinkle in the eye, warm honey smile poised to the left side
Via the conduit of my student I send You a comforting glance – Love from Your guiding bride… “

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

C-A-T Me If You Can!

Pen hoisted between the enchanted corridors of nimble gifted fingers
Proudly my student displays a casting of You and I, a fragrance that still lingers
Crosshatched colour technique applied she did, thus face of netted tea-rose pink
Two cats embroiled in affectionate embraces, white fur of the softest mink
But what pursuits, what chases, what sweet attempts You cast to entice me to follow You
Yes, we will have endured many storms before reality gives us our cue
Ah, I can see now from afar the puzzlement that ripples through Your solemn face
Breathlessly You pose, “How do her Special Ed students possess an advanced knowledge base?”
What substance is this chain, this link, this connection that crosses Space and Time?
Whose craft has led a mirror between us, causing our words and pictures to rhyme
For the present, let us admire the art of You and I incarnated as two cats, O my beloved man
And someday I shall explain everything to You but first C-A-T me if You can…!

EPILOGUE: No News to report today, but something extraordinary came my way tonight as I was just about to post this blog onto my website. Addressing to the man who is my fond stranger beyond vast seas, the one who has begun to appreciate the true meaning of Faith as the heartfelt belief in the goodness of the Unseen, my invisibility of face torments and yet renews his Spirit and for that matter I pray he will click on the link below. I shan’t attach a flowery explanative note, simply, look upon this photograph and see me as You have always seen me in Your dreams… :))

LINK: https://www.facebook.com/The.Eternal.Sunshine.Page/photos/a.138494749517237.20600.138480696185309/985429008157136/?type=1&theater

C-A-T Me If You Can!

“… For the present, let us admire the art of You and I incarnated as two cats, O my beloved man
And someday I shall explain everything to You but first C-A-T me if You can…”

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

A Painting Of Our Class: Miss Garlic, Mr Garlic And Seven Naughty Ones!

Imagination knows no limits with this adorable student of mine
By heart she can recite the songs of Disney’s ‘Frozen’ line by line!
In our Special Ed class, on the last day of college, she set diligently to task
Breathing animation on paper, a portrait of paints: our faces in mask
We all grow out from green grass as like the pure bodies of garlic, a smiling army
Included in the frame is Miss Garlic – and that of course would be me!
My student, cheeky as she is, drew in a Mr Garlic, my Love yet to materialise
And loyally in suit follow seven little naughty ones, You do realise
That they refer to the students although I predict Mr Garlic would interpret differently
Wishing me to be mother to his seven children unconditionally!
What an incorrigible rascal my husband is! What a crook, what a fool!
Yet in this humble heart of mine he kisses the walls of my throbbing school
Ah, one last thing before I scoot, the wave of blue in the sky is not what you think
Rather, proof repeats again that our Destinies are irrefutably in sync:
It is the flutter of a deep blue cape belonging to the real Mr Garlic who is out somewhere
And that is why next to my adorable student I have left him an empty chair… :))

BREAKING NEWS – BREAKING NEWS – BREAKING NEWS: My preeminent and artistic student described in the aforementioned poem and shown below displays a penchant for applying the white canvas to a constructive LOAD of colours. The final effect is a pleasure to the eyes, I am sure you will agree on this. I regret to inform everyone that the same cannot be said about Mr Garlic, my imaginary husband, who seems to have picked up a very unhealthy habit of UPLOADING socks into the washing machine and, worse still, singing about them in the most dreadfully out-of-pitch voice! Dear Garlic ji, I know Your heart is white and so You wish to see the same degree of cleanliness in Your apparel but, honestly, leave the socks to me! Giggle, giggle… :))

LINK: https://www.facebook.com/zoomtv/photos/a.10152176046864123.1073741862.81147439122/10153400984839123/?type=1&theater

A Painting Of Our Class: Miss Garlic, Mr Garlic And Seven Naughty Ones!

“… We all grow out from green grass as like the pure bodies of garlic, a smiling army
Included in the frame is Miss Garlic – and that of course would be me…”

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

My Naughty Friend, Little Miss A

Best Friend T-Shirt girl, Little Miss A is a rising star of theatre and dance
She can never stay still, forever on the hop – skip – and prance
But since my friend and I are of the same short height, you see
Taking pictures at her eye-level is as easy as ABC…!!!

My Naughty Friend, Little Miss A

“… But since my friend and I are of the same short height, you see… Taking pictures at her eye-level is as easy as ABC…!!!”

 

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

Mr Zakky At Play

Do what you may with my perspective on the matter but I am convinced that one of the most magical and captivating things one could take the time to observe would be of watching little people – the children and, yes, the adults too who still bear childlike minds – as when they are utterly and perfectly absorbed in the world of play. Notice how every ounce of their pint-sized form submits to the sumptuous ecstasies of the imagination, a place that eludes the hook of the naked eye but that which always serves as a goldmine of impossibilities conquerable for those that have the key to unlock its door. Play is not simply an educative or a recreational experience, it is in camouflaged guise the token beauty of living fully in the present. I consider it a privilege as special as catching the first birdsong of the day when I chance upon a child swept away by the gravitational pull of the thrill of the moment provided by the challenges of a game at hand. I am fortunate to live under a roof where my family are still very much loyal to board games even if goofy squabbles often ricochet between players over rules and hilarious accusations of cheating are flung at each other like a wet towel – it all adds to the absurdity, merit and fond love I share for the pleasures of play.   If you happen to pass by my house this Christmas, do knock and enter and not only will you be served the most refined of teas but behold as I devilishly demolish all that you thought you knew of the English language in a round of my personal favourite, Scrabble! Oh, dear, have I sent a shiver down your spine? Calm down you, I shan’t be that ruthless on a blundering novice!

Perhaps you find it an awfully fiddly business of living in the present, trapped instead in the turmoil of the past or the vagaries of the future. Well, then, get off your high horse and begin to learn from the ways of the little people, children and hobbits alike! As an example to illustrate my points with shininess to equal my Amma’s precious cutlery set, the photograph below should suffice. Mr Zakky is my naughty side-kick nephew from the northern shires of England and last Easter he spent a few days with me. At first he was naturally curious about my camera so I let him play with it – a brave move I know! – and, eventually, lo and behold, his attention and interest diverted to other things. The Playstation was one of them and boy was he fixed! Whilst he was busy giving my brother a good bashing in the game thanks to his impeccable choice of taking on the role of a big beasty ogre, I swooped in with the stealth and prowess of a cat and took this shot. I am fairly confident that one look at the sparkling singularity of focus enshrined in those onyx orbs of his eyes and you will begin to remember once again what it meant to live in the gift, the gift of the present…

 

 

Mr Zakky At Play

“I am fairly confident that one look at the singularity of focus enshrined in those onyx orbs of his eyes and you will begin to remember once again what it meant to live in the gift, the gift of the present… “

            

 

Photograph & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | UK 2013

I Rose: A Short Story About Faith

Lamentable circumstances can fall into our unsuspecting laps at any point in our lives, either with a sudden lightning streak bolt or, with a slow brewing scheme that might have slipped our attention at first but only to shriek into our faces later when it has festered to a noticeable size and it is too late. Bad things happen and such are these things that they are well versed in how to disable and paralyse the sunny disposition of even the most optimistic of spirits, wringing inner peace inside out until anyone passing by the person in question would find great difficulty in differentiating between the dark blob in front of them and a mummified prune!

My own life has seen a patchwork of gruesome and unfortunate attacks made on my Faith, a tiny but nevertheless bright flame that burns high within the forest of my soul. I can still vividly remember moments of isolation and rejection at school when I was singled out, by a few, on the basis of my skin colour and shipwrecked as it were on a deserted island, questioning the legitimacy of my identity. But, dear reader, I rose. In my teenage years, many girls pestered me to be like them, to develop tastes in fashion and make-up and that to see that I had no boyfriend was equivalent to the bubonic plague and, therefore, I needed to be ‘cured’. I shall not lie, it was a vicious battleground of cut-throat existence that serves to make me laugh when I reminiscence about it now. Did I give in to those girls? Nah, of course not! I was far too enthralled about the possibility of joining the local amateur astronomy club, spying on local neighbours with binoculars because I had  strong reason to believe that they were defectors of the KGB and, marching off onto nature trails in my garden because in those times this oasis of unexplored greenery was my answer to the Amazon forest! As for the lack of boyfriend, the neat irony is that it was the boys that respected me the most and sought my knowledge on trains and Star Wars with enough enthusiasm to send a hot air balloon into space! Oh the wormy purple jealousy that rushed to the faces of those girls and so one day I turned around and told them in my casual candid style that they should not worry for the one I Love shan’t walk into the pages of my book until much, much later. Of course they thought my words taxingly strange however it was retorts of this sort that were to be the building blocks of a new-found respect for my eccentric mannerisms. Yes, dear reader, once again, I rose.

Do not fall into the fallacy that bad energies retire after repeated beatings from the unconventional deflecting tactics of the quirky mind! Not at all, dear reader. There is a ‘Baba Yaga’ witch out there who will always be on my case, the epitome of cruel badness, vowed to snuff out the light in my lamp with her dastardly spells as was so palpably present in the bully crowds that I had run into in my earlier years. She is the antithesis of what I am and stand for. We are all born with a shadow in life and destiny has assigned mine to take the form of a nasty old witch. If she were to morph into human form I would imagine she would be cunning enough to transform herself into a beautiful young lady, admired by a starstruck entourage of men and women alike. The sole indicator of her true self would be her parasitic thirst for adoration and adulation. Do take special caution if you happen to stumble upon such a fair maiden, she could be the offensive character to which I refer to!

On Halloween a most curious thing took place. I had foreseen that ‘Baba Yaga’ was hatching a plan of pure vileness to strike at my chest and rip out my beloved flame from within the encasement of my soul. Like the many times before, I sighed and shook my head in pity. When would she stop? So much in the way of sympathy arose for my ill-wisher that I wanted to seek her out and tell her that she need not be afraid of my Light. She was most welcome to sit under it. Wishful thinking one might say because as soon as these conciliatory thoughts took shape the witch disfigured into a more grotesquely ugly form – and believe me I was adamant that she had already capped the summit of ugliness! Boy, how mistaken was I! Without relent, the witch sent out her incantations, speeding through the air over thousands of miles, knocking the odd crow off-course and blowing out two telecommunications satellites before finally, like a slithering reticular python, her words slid through my window and under my bed covers until it rested on my chest. Yes, dear reader, I was fast asleep! Alas! My Light flickered inside, perhaps it knew that its time had come for all things are said to meet an end one day.

But it was not to be.

Just as the evil words had sharpened their pincers, ready to prise open my chest, something – or rather – someone had weaved a little magic of their own, summoning a protective shield made of the most beautiful ceramic around my tiny body. Where my heart and my Light should be was, instead, an ornate and opulent and sumptuously painted rose found nowhere on earth. The malevolent spell crashed against its solid petals and went bouncing off with such colossal force that it travelled backwards over the same course that it had taken to fly to me and, with a dash of poetic justice, splattered all over her ugly face! Humiliated beyond reckoning, she had not quite thrown in the towel yet and muttered the promise under her breath that she would take me down the next time.

I Rose

“… someone had weaved a little magic of their own, summoning a protective shield made of the most beautiful ceramic around my tiny body. Where my heart and my Light should be was, instead, an ornate and opulent and sumptuously painted rose found nowhere on earth…”

 

I woke up with a start. I rose. The room was still and silent. Rubbing my chest, I looked out of the window into the blackness of the night and saw the silver crescent moon floating above the trees. He was smiling and spoke with the sweet lightness of swan feathers, “Thank you for having the Faith in my Light to help you this once…”

 

 

Photograph & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | UK 2014

My First Book: A 30 Year Old Tale

My dear reader, you may or may not have existed 30 years ago however, if you were out there, somewhere, breathing under a blanket of sky and clouds that I was not to see you grow in then, it is highly likely that you might have let out an extra loud tummy-trombone giggle in that year. I do beg your pardon if this spontaneous combustion of laughter landed you in a right old pickle and hot mustard, especially for those of you who might have been auditioning for the school play at the time and wherein, alas, you were subsequently chucked out of the door when those lines you had rehearsed late into the night wobbled, contorting into riotous cackles instead and leaving one very mortified director traumatised for life! Or, perhaps you were one of the unfortunate teenagers who were about to ask the popular girl or boy out on your first date but failed tragically because as soon as you had delivered your solemn declaration of love you burst out into fits of demented laughter, saliva and the food segments that had been wedged in your braces for months splattering on their pristine faces! It is also quite possible that that year you were a tiny speck in your mother’s womb, in which case, if an electron microscope had peered into your nano-scale world, it would have surely picked up you blissfully twirling in an anomalous high-frequency anti-clockwise spin, a property brought on by the still premature nervous system shuddering with rambunctious laughter as if it had been stroked and tickled with a goose feather!

What exactly happened 30 years ago you ask?! What devious magical murmuring mischievously induced you to undergo a split-second transformation and incidentally spark serious questions about your sanity by those poor souls who might have been in close proximity to you at the time?!

I am so sorry. I am to blame for that little glitch although Destiny tells me to take a chill pill for it was meant to be. Shall I explain? Well, how could I not afford to now that I have started! You see, 30 years ago, a very special man in my life, my Abba (Father) who is no longer here, gifted me my first ever book. My FIRST book, ladies and gentlemen! I admit I have possessed books before this but they were picture books with slices of sentences here and there. This book, given to me at the cusp of the enchanting age of 7, was different. Strung of words only, it was a collection of tales gathered from cultures around the world and it meant that not only would I be encouraged to learn more challenging words but, that, in the absent of images, my Abba had cleverly placed a brilliantly new milestone in front of me: a door to a new land signposted with the chalked letters that spelled ‘imagination’. Words became wings to worlds beyond those accessible by my physical body. I felt like the greatest treasure ever had stepped into my soul.

I remember walking down the hill with Abba after school and he pulled the book out of his coat. I gleamed an instant smile even though I had never held a ‘thick book’ until then and I knew in the deepest recesses of my gut that a unbreakable bond was about to be forged. History was about to be born. My Hi-Story! I dearly wish you were here with me now so that I could hand the book over to you and watch your face change in as many shades as there are seasons, for my first book brims with dawns made of nostalgia: the tattered antiquated brown pages, a spine that is about to fall apart in pieces at any minute, the smell exuded that is the accumulation of moments it has spent watching me grow up, and, finally, my first nervous attempts at joined-up writing can be found on the first and last page. Handwritten here is my address and an innocently placed request that whomsoever should discover the book should kindly return it to me. You will be even more endeared to learn that there is a message notifying that a reward of the vertiginous sum of 20 pence will be paid up handsomely to any person who successfully returned the book to me in one piece!

So you can appreciate, dear reader, ‘More Stories For Seven-Year-Olds’ is a very special book indeed. A book of the heart which even to this day, 30 odd years on, when its pages are flicked against my nose a plethora of memories like colourful circus acts soar out from its centre and embrace me in a warm protective hug. It is the lingering presence of the dream of a man who wished his daughter to be a storyteller of her own someday. I precariously took out the book today from my overstocked bookshelf but Peter Rabbit filched it whilst I was not looking and soon began posing with it in my garden – a cheeky photograph is enclosed below!

 

My First Book

“A book of the heart which even to this day, 30 odd years on, when its pages are flicked against my nose a plethora of memories like colourful circus acts soar out from its centre and embrace me in a warm protective hug. It is the lingering presence of the dream of a man who wished his daughter to be a storyteller of her own someday…”

 

And so that is why 30 years ago, on that fateful day, you did what you did. You knew I would be telling you this story of mine in the future except, back then you scoffed and laughed in breathless disbelief before returning to your senses. You do not do the same this time. I see a quiet smile as wide as a rainbow, snuggled in a scarf of the chunkiest knit, arcing across your face. I want to say to you that you make me deeply happy because I can feel in my heart how badly you wish that we had met in childhood…

 

 

Photograph & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | My  Garden | UK 2014

The Prerequisites Of A Potential Suitor

I have not the slightest fancy in broad muscles or pretentious wheels for what purpose would they serve? Straining the poor sleeves of many a shirt and t-shirt, bulky muscles fertilized in the competitive green-houses of the gym simply appear to my eyes as extra meat on the poor arms! Oh my goodness me, the thought just occurred that if I were to take such a man to my school during the much anticipated lunch hour, the rabid hunger of little children that can so often distort their visual perception could lead to the most unfortunate case of mistaking those Hercularian biceps for chicken drumsticks! What could follow does not bear thinking about! As for owning a sports car, what diabolical piffle!  Reaching a destination by breaking the speed of sound hardly tickles my affections, I would miss out on letting out sighs to the world to show how glad I was to be part of it because, at that ridiculous speed of travel you would have successfully blurred out the song of flowers, the buzz of laughing children and the chance to say hello to Mr Bruce, the octogenarian with the dandyish panama hat! Am I being rash and pernickety in my specifications, dear reader? What sort of man would I be drawn to, you ask?

 

Prerequisites Of A Potential Suitor

“… who would want to travel the world with me in a sieve knowing fully well that it could sink at any time; who saw that despite the indulgences of sunshine the sensual possibilities contained in a rainy day were impeccably in a league of their own…”

 

Someone who would smile and shake their head in loving recognition of my eccentricities as, for example, when I refer to the camera as a ‘magic box’;  who would want to travel the world with me in a sieve knowing fully well that it could sink at any time; who saw that despite the indulgences of sunshine the sensual possibilities contained in a rainy day were impeccably in a league of their own…

A pea-sized footnote. If his face frowns in confused agony when I ask him to tell me what a library is, then, undoubtedly, he is out the window and there is no crash mat included…!

 

Photograph & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | UK 2014