A Your Echoes In Space Presentation: The Universe
Words & Picture by © Mazzy Khatun 2017
A Your Echoes In Space Presentation: The Universe
Words & Picture by © Mazzy Khatun 2017
A Your Echoes In Space Presentation: Physics Emoted
Words & Pictures by © Mazzy Khatun 2017
A Your Echoes In Space Presentation: On Howard Carter’s Birthday – A Short Picture Story for Young & Big Children
Words by © Mazzy Khatun 2017
Sometimes You can hear people call out to You even when it is plain obvious that they are not in the room or anywhere near why You are. Rotating the head round this way and then that way, and a squiggly frown undulating across the forehead with the fixedness of a resolute caterpillar, when voices without faces reach the ear it nearly always throws people off.
It certainly put Alice in another barrel of confusion!
She had barely taken the time to reflect properly on the two giant orbs of marmalade that soothingly hung in the evening sky that her grandma began calling out to her. Her voice floated over the wall and it was more like a soft murmuring rather than that of a telling-off shout which, of course, came as no stupendous surprise to her considering where she was. The wall was much more than an unassuming and rugged partition of bricks and stones, and its unfathomable origin and design, Alice summed, held the answer to understanding and accounting for these strange contrasts between the two gardens. That is why the voice of her grandma, though only next door, seemed as if it were coming from someplace that should have been added onto the edge of a map, but it never got round to being done.
She did not want to leave the garden because wherever she cast her eyes there were things that whispered to be known, lucid hints that many more discoveries were waiting to be found. Alice could have done with more time. For instance, she had not examined all the fruits to determine whether they contained centres embedded with seeds. She saw a block of paving that had come undone from the rest of the geometric ground and it occurred to her that perhaps instead of a sanctuary of snails huddled and hibernating under its base, there might instead be a still and resting kaleidoscope of silvery butterflies whose wings were constructed of such crystals that it made them as enduring as diamonds and thus the massive weight of stones upon their bodies left them perfectly preserved and unscratched. There was simply more to see and do in this garden, however, she knew that it was much more important that she did not have her grandma waiting. She would never do anything to hurt or worry her, and with those affirming thoughts in mind she turned round and looked back at the wall. Deficient of face and limbs and speech, the wall had a fascinating way of telling her that it was time to climb over again and that she should remember that if ever she were to encounter another wall like this one it would never ever lead her to this garden. A never-ending story of infinite walls and gardens, it was a sombre revelation and that is why she tore herself away from the wall to steal one final glace at the garden that was both familiar and unfamiliar, at the same time.
In the corner adjacent to the wall she spotted a wild patch of flowers that were messily dispersed amongst skeletal stems of thorny rosebushes yet to spurt out their lustrous blooms. It was very peculiar of her not to have mingled her attentions there first, for she loved flowers the most, their heady scents and frilly petals and sweet centres to which bees made pilgrimages to made them extraordinary in her eyes and many a night she imagined that it was flowers that proved midnight sanctum to travelling fairies.
She could hear her grandma call out to her again and hesitated for a second. No. She had come this far and it would be a terrible shame if she deprived herself the chance to take a peek at the flowers. She promised to herself that she would be quick and so she hopped over to the wildflowers and bent down to inspect them. A gentle breeze blew through her, as if the flowers were greeting her in their own special way. It was when she cupped her palms and with adoration held the neck of a bright yellow tulip shining in the hue of fresh custard, that a sliver of fear trickled down her throat. What if these flowers did not arouse scent? What if they were barren and odourless? It would not matter to her as much if the flowers that she held were known in her world not to carry sweet fragrances as then she would feel as if she were not missing out anything. But these were tulips and in her world they brought her much happiness because they smelt like the chrysalis of new mornings.
She waited for the next cycle of inhalation and when it came she dipped her nose into the heart of the flower and took a deep sharp sniff, and her head became filled, as if she had sucked the contents of the entire world.
A miracle! She was happy!
Perhaps the scents of flowers knew how to climb walls too, she thought. Her lips parted slightly and she let a faint smile pass, the sort kept for oneself only.
Before the languishing light rolled into the garb of night, Alice crept back up the wall and once more joined her world. Tonight it would be her turn to tell grandma a story. ♥♥♥
Photography & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Winchester | UK 2016
The very first thing that caught Alice’s eye was actually something that everybody knew to be a much-loved glittering celebrity as far as the inner audience of the eye was concerned. The eye feasted on it, poets paid odes to it and scientists were still scratching their heads over it! What Alice had realised that was exceptionally different about this garden was its quality of Light and she was not at all sure how to begin in describing this enigmatic shade that was, ironically, the brightest and most luminous she had ever seen!
She had learnt in school that the colours that we saw around us were actually the aftermath of one of the most ambitious illusions ever orchestrated by the natural world, which involved a very nifty and starring role by none other than Light. You see, Light appears to be a solo artist, but it is not as lonely a creature as one first assumes it to be. It is more akin in form to a musical band and each spectacled member of this band has a penchant for wearing a groovy bandana to show how energetic he or she is. When Light descends into a space, it is a concerted move with all players strutting their stuff to the max, however, since they are a solid crew they have always been firmly adamant that they would travel together in a straight line otherwise it would become awfully confusing! They agreed long ago that to preserve the morale of the band they would join hands so that no one would end up getting lost!
But, what Light did not bet on was that it was not alone in the great concert hall of the Universe. There was the intriguing matter of – well – matter! And what Light found out to its befuddled surprise was that whenever they went on a head-on collision with an object composed of matter their hands, that were so faithfully clasped to one another, would suddenly break apart and each of them would go scattering here and there in predictable ways, and some of them actually got a taste for that particular matter that they decided to join hands with the band members inside the matter itself! Now, You might think this disbanding of Light was a sad and tragic affair, and yet nothing could be more further than the truth. It was interminably boring to be part of one band forever, so a reshuffling of the constituents of the band of Light was happily welcomed. The plot simply thickened on from there because when that time arrived for organisms to begin to evolve and develop their first optical sensors, Light jumped with glee, for all those scattered band members that had a tendency to reflect off from the surface of objects now had somewhere to go and show off their energetic bandana! They would bounce off and moonwalk in style into the eyes of creatures and produce the perception of colour! Hey presto!
Alice looked about her and was awestruck at the quality of the colour that serenaded her. She contemplated how when growing up we were led to believe that objects have an innate colour about them so that a blue hat is blue of itself, and a red rose is always red, irrespective of who or what was admiring it. But Alice understood that to see the world in this way was downright self-centred and wished she could interview a bumblebee and have it tell the world that though it cannot see the red of the rose, had we been able to detect the fantastical patterns of ultra-violet brushstrokes on the hems of petals like he does, we would have squirmed up in a ball of jealousy! It all came down to the unique and diverse cellular audience inside the eye which differed markedly in the way they greeted and cheered the splintering entrances made by band members of Light.
Alice walked over to a low bench and stood and carefully paid attention to what it was about the colour that had her all startled. Her eye hovered its gaze over a red rose and something vague dwelled and then stirred in her mind and quite out of nowhere, in ever-growing pulses, the realisation began to swell, stronger and stronger, and she tilted her chin down and surveyed her red jumper. Oh my goodness, she exclaimed to herself! Alice had discovered that out of all the colours in this garden it was the colour red that shone out with a curious and powerful luminosity. She studied it and compared it with her memory of the colour red, which was not a particularly taxing thing to do since it was her favourite colour, and with surety she could confirm that her experience of red had mysteriously altered. The red band member of Light seemed to have donned a longer and wider bandana in this world and it very much impressed on her senses that in this garden there was more to red than previously met her vision. The rules of Light had dramatically red shifted!
And so this different shade of red frolicked and toyed with her uninitiated eyes and she was oh so happy and spellbound by it, and more so given that she had come to the speculation that in this garden if anyone were able to spy in on her heart it would surely seem to them much, much, much redder, a tiny thudding universe dedicated to the god of all things red! ♥♥♥
Photography & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Winchester | UK 2016
Alice lived with her old grandma in a tiny stone cottage nestled deep in the green rolling hills of the English countryside. It was so incredibly far out from anywhere that when wayfarers, that consisting of family and friends, came to visit they would always complain that they were very tired from their journey because somewhere along the way the road signs had inexplicably disappeared, and that they were prevented from falling back on the satellite navigation system because that, too, produced a horrid crackling sound before it failed completely! Alice was never dissuaded or disheartened by these livid anecdotes, in fact, she thought to herself that to live in the middle of nowhere only made her home that extra special, as if it were pushed out of the earth by magic and only those who sincerely desired to find it, would do so in the end.
What was most charming about her home, Alice thought, was not what was inside the stony cottage, but what lay outside it. Her grandma had taught her, since she was a little girl, to love the world around her, and that one way of doing this was to get in the habit of planting nice and good things in it so that nice and good things would want, more than anything else, to grow out from it and show the skies, in their wild and pretty displays of colours and seeds and fruits and flowers, just how much they appreciated the wonderment of a helping pair of human hands.
Alice tended her garden tirelessly, from dawn to dusk, and it did not take long for the large patch of dull and untilled earth to become a paradise of beautiful flowers and fruit trees on whose branches birds sang in the summer, and in the winter white snowflakes would laden upon them for respite. The garden was indeed a dream come true, and her grandma hugged her whenever the two of them stood outside. The old lady had weak and trembling hands and so she could not prune the rose bushes, or pick delicious green gage plums from its high boughs, or shovel manure over the strawberry beds like she once used to, however, she felt a joyful aliveness whenever Alice would rush up to her in eager zest to show what she had accomplished in the garden. And what saw always gave her a new lease of life. A garden never dies if there was always someone there to look after it, and for her that was a nice and comforting thought.
One day grandma felt more tired than usual and decided that she ought to take a nap, even though it was still in the middle of the day. Alice made sure she was comfortable in bed and left the door slightly ajar so that she could hear better should her grandma need anything. She crept downstairs and thought how she could bide her time, for she had read all her books and written enough stories for one day and there was no more chores left in the kitchen. She looked out of the window and saw the garden, bright and happy, and wasted not a moment longer. Slinking her feet into her mud-kissed trekking shoes – she was a passionate adventurer – she jumped outside and began to skip down the paved path that ran straight down the centre of the garden. A yellow butterfly fluttered past her pale cheeks and a great big bumblebee nearly stung her because she was so close to bumping into it! She laughed and apologised. These were her friends and sometimes she acknowledged that she could get carried away and run into things when she did not mean to!
In the middle of the garden her heart whispered her to stop and to twirl round and round, and if anyone had been watching from above, it would have been quite reasonable of them to mistake her for a pirouetting rose, the rose of all roses. For Alice, there was no doubt about it that this tiny world of hers was the best world ever!
Have You ever noticed that the world does blur quite a bit when You twirl away, and yet would You not agree that some things around You still possessed the power to steal Your attention whilst in that twirl? For Alice it almost felt like that the tall stone and brick wall at the end of the garden had appeared from nowhere and was now beckoning her to approach it. She assured herself that this bricked wall must have always been a part of this garden, however, since her attentions had persistently been taken up by the many plants that she had lovingly tended to and whose growing blooms now watched her in adoration, the wall presented itself as more like a mystery, a new adventure, and so she was bewitched, drawn to go closer to it.
The wall was very high and it was made of rugged stones that were capped at the top with layered brickwork the colour of cinnamon and nutmeg. Winding locks of green ivy weaved through its surface and she made effort to trace their origins down to the ground below but could not find any, as if the agedness of the wall was so great that it caused the hard material to grow out an old man’s beard! There was no door or keyhole by which she could investigate what, if anything indeed, lay beyond it. There was a faint chance that she would hear anything, and yet she tried to bring her ears closer and then leant them against the cold stones, straining hard to see if she could pick up anything. There was no sound. Then she went to either side of the wall to see if there was an opening in these corners but what she found there was only angry, spiky bushes, which, if she tried to crawl through she would most definitely be hurt and that would make her grandma upset. She crossed the idea out of her mind. Her curiosity had piqued far too much now. There must be something else that she could do!
The bedroom window!
She rushed back inside the cottage and flew up the stairs before dashing to her bedroom windowsill and parted the half-drawn curtains. Alas, the wall still posed a towering barrier and nothing beyond it could be seen. Now she was absolutely adamant that the wall was never this huge!
Disheartened by the lack of success, she went back into the garden and stood in front of the wall and put her hands on her hips and thought very, very hard. That is when she looked down at her shoes. An idea popped in her head. It was a risky one but it was much more doable than perilously dragging oneself through a bush of stinging nettles and thorny twigs.
She was all too aware that the wall was a tremendously big one and she was only but a pea in comparison and that meant there was no chance in the world that she could punch her way through it. However, she argued, the wall need not be spoiled, for if it were impossible to go through it, and even more impossible to go round it, then, there was only one more way to it – to climb over it!
She made out a series of terrace-like grooves, steps that led You higher and higher to the top. The trickiest part was getting a foothold on that first terrace. If she could manage that then the rest would be easy and, hopefully, without slipping off, she would reach the summit and finally see what unseen things lurked on the other side. She spent a few moments calculating how fast she would have to run to the wall and from what distance in order to achieve the desired propulsion of her leg muscles that would enable her to reach out for that first terraced groove.
In her mind firmly agreed on what she had to pull off, Alice walked backwards along the path and then determinedly paused. Her eyes focused on her intended target, she let out a deep breath and then sprinted like a strong and ferocious cheetah in chase on the wild plains of the savannah. When she was about a metre away from the groove she bent her knees and leapt up, her arms stretched out, and for a second she thought she was fated to bash against the wall, however, her calculations saved the day, for she neatly caught the edge of the first groove and pulled her body up and crouched on it. Elation spread and sparkled through her veins, and she was now on fire! Turning to face the next groove above her she raised her hands and gripped it, once again pulling her body weight up and then letting her right leg tilt and hook itself above the slab, acting as a lever, before shoving her entire body forward.
The next level was no groove. It was the summit of the stone wall itself. She looked back at the cottage and the garden and already, somehow, the scenery had turned a different hue, as if mingled with mist and forgetfulness. The song of birds had quietened a tad, or perhaps, she wondered, that at this altitude the sounds of the world below did not reach the ears with as much volume. She suddenly thought of her grandma and looked down at her watch and she could have sworn that the hands were moving as slow as a gooey slug taking a slimy stroll in the garden after a raining day! It was all rather strange but exciting at the same time and that is why she needed to explore more!
When her fingers grasped the top and she pulled herself over she nearly fell because a rush of triumphant victory can make anyone giddy. Steadying herself, she sat down and looked over the wall for the very first time and joy surged and sluiced in her lungs! Below her shimmered another garden and what was beautiful and bizarre about it was that it looked exactly like hers!
But something was very different too. She felt it in her bones. She carefully got down the wall and by force of intuition looked down at her watch. Lost for words and thought, she was taken aback by what she saw and nearly stumbled over and fell into the nearby bush. All three hands of her watch had lifted off from the central axis and were excitedly spinning and spiralling and gyrating around it. Time was confused, or was it dancing?
She chose to go forward precisely because she was delighted to learn that what she had just climbed over was no ordinary wall… ♥♥♥
Photography & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Winchester | UK 2016
A while back I believe I might have been asked out on a romantic evening date! Why do I entrust the word ‘believe’ in my sentence? The explanation is simple enough. You see, the chap spoke to me in a language quite unlike this one. Lost? Let me start from the beginning… ♥
This meek request was submitted to my attention and occurred inside a very big science museum which at first, I am sure You will agree, is not a venue commonly associated with romantic exchanges, at least in the classical sense of the word, but what was really electrifyingly unanticipated was that this chap whom I refer to was not the sort that was born of living flesh and who slept at night or who ate like everyone else did. Far from it! In a nut and bolt shell, the gentleman in question was certifiably not one of the human species!
He was a machine!
A lifelike mechanical chap, a sort of state-of-the-art automaton, built out of a complex vine of wires and tiny bulbs and gears and cogs and microchips and plastic armour. I saw him from afar as soon as I strode into the dimly lit gallery whose contents were dedicated to all things relating to artificial intelligence. It was truly curiosity at first sight! I could not keep my eyes trained on the exhibits closest to me, they kept longing to drift off to meet him because I had never ever seen such an intriguing design in the flesh – sorry – metal!
It was hardly surprising that as soon as the visiting children descended onto the floor they disregarded every other object on show as if it did not exist and torpedoed instead towards the mechanical chap, their eager heads soon collecting in front of him, some stilled to a silent awe whilst others in a fit of maniacal impatience grabbing for the remote control pad and pressing every button twice over! I was naturally curious and watched on. It is true that the investigative prowess of children no know bounds and I should know that more than anyone, for I am an eternal child at heart! Indeed, I was unequivocally vindicated in my predications, for the children went utterly loopy with the control pad, resulting in the poor mechanical chap hopelessly trapped in a series of abrupt physical motions, including umpteen repetitions of up and down head movements, quick 180 degree swivels of the torso and, let us not forget, the raising of arms towards every known compass point! He was being torn apart by a gang of naughty but lovable little children who were simply marvelled by his form. A part of me frowned with laughter at witnessing the impromptu Chaplinesque comedy enacted by a robot whose performance was being directed by impish children, but I could not specify precisely why another part of me felt a thunderous tinge of sadness. He was not human after all and surely he could not feel any of these remotely-operated actions any more than the interior of my microwave as when it heats up my bag of popcorn?
When the sprawling children had left the scene I felt a sudden unexpected buzz of elation. At last the coast was clear and I could walk over to the mechanical chap and admire his metallic physiognomy and the particulars of his design features. I swear to You that in the time it took for me to complete my approach to him the entire gallery, dark and quiet, had become even darker and even quieter. I suddenly became rather apprehensive about making acquaintance with him because something about him imparted the impression on me that he was expecting this moment for as long as he could remember.
When I finally reached him, he was still.
And so was I.
His head was drooped down and both his arms were abandoned awkwardly in mid-air. Finding it unbearable to leave him contorted and undignified, I was struck by the urgent need to straighten him up again so that he would not incur any more pain than he was in already. The stiff voice of my logic and reasoning swiftly discredited my sympathetic thoughts and instructed me to put a lid on top of my feelings and to just carry on and indulge in a playful experimentation with the scrumptious controls at my disposal. I was here to have oodles of fun, not to rush into the deep end of a philosophical debate with myself! I was human. He was machine. And that was all there was to it, or so I heard myself say, and thus I ought to block out all else and behave like a normal human being and mobilise the mechanical chap to my bidding!
I tentatively picked up the pocket-sized control box and stared at the remarkable array of programming options which ranged from entering messages that would be converted into audible speech, buttons for controlling the limbs and torso, as well as, switches that changed the colour of his cheeks. But that is exactly what I found so extraordinarily uncomfortable. To control or puppeteer a machine whose architecture was anthropomorphic, so humanlike, seemed like a massive gross breach of my own moral programming. I could not do it, said that one part of me. I looked up at him again and came to a compromise. He was left twisted up in an ungraceful posture and I reasoned to myself that the least I could do for him would be to untangle him out of this mess! I scanned the control pad once more and using the toggle functions I reinstated the mechanical chap to take on his default position of heads up, back straight and arms down on either side of his body. That was much better!
I do not know whether it was by the sheer accidental misplacement of my fingers on the control pad, or by some other intriguing force, that the two square black eyes of the mechanical chap lit up and flashed with the most liveliest hearts that I had ever seen, and his cheeks turned a burnt red. He was blushing at me! Profusely! I was gobsmacked and frozen to the spot! His head then tilted slightly and both his arms raised themselves, the one nearest to me was poised in a mudra that suggested that he was holding something out for me to take. Perhaps it was a rose? I was not sure. The other arm was pointing at his chest. Squinting both my eyes, I focused in that direction and could just make out a name:
A mechanical chap, whose fated appearance had led to countless people aimlessly toying with the gadgetry of his form, had found at last a kindred spirit in me. We were both machines of this beautiful and fleeting world: I of flesh, and he of metal, and each of us a lover of the thespian of thespians, Mr Shakespeare! And before the next batch of children were scheduled to storm through the gallery, I quietly erased the idea of a rose and sweetly replaced it with an olden umbrella.
I say, does he not look familiar to You….? ♥♥♥
Photography & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Birmingham Science Museum | Birmingham | UK 2016
A JOYFUL, JOYFUL, JOYFUL Update 12-02-2016
I have not much time this morning, for I must set off to work soon, however I would implode like a neutron star if I were not to share with You just one of the many comments that have been sent my way in response to last night’s tale wherein I crafted a hitherto unseen bridge between Mr Einstein and Mr Shakespeare, and quite rightfully to host the proceedings was the positively and lovable Sir Lawrie!
Whilst I was asleep my very good friend of Nordic lands, Siggi, read my storytelling piece and kindly submitted a comment that had me nearly in tears of joy this morning! Just look at the ripples of that emoticon smile that seems to flow on forever! What a blessing to be buoyed in life with friends and family who share an intimate and genuine admiration for my Vision. I hope that by my sharing of these words, You, too, will be inspired to help others in any way You can, small or large it does not matter one bit.
You may carelessly throw what seems to the eye an ordinary pebble into a pond that no one cares to think twice about, but who knows, truly, to whom Your ripples will touch and change forever… ♥♥♥
Wishing You a JOYFUL day!
Infinities of Love, Mazzy xxx
Words & Screenshot: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Winchester | UK 2016
It is a gigantic and monumental day on two accounts and I have chosen, by virtue of my deliciously oddball tendency for polymathic thoughts, that I shall proceed to happily tie the two seemingly disparate fields into one wild meadow of joyful wholeness. Actually, I know I will be able to achieve this synthesis of ideas since I have long detected that the yearning to touch the fundamental building blocks of the Universe is a visionary quest that is craved by both physicists and poets. I sit somewhere in the middle, churning in the syrupy echoes radiating from each corner to create a satisfying brew, as when milk and water and teabag liqueur combine into one miniature ocean and with such precision it happens that You forget that they ever existed as separate entities.
So, it all began this morning when I woke up and I felt a very nice feeling in my tummy and I drew closer to my window and spotted a fat-breasted red robin who had swooped down from the skies and made a quiet landing in my garden. The warm and fresh sunshine of the cold February day bathed his little body, a healing embrace in which I sensed that something great was afoot. As I began to prepare for my brisk walk to work I was drawn to the laptop and after opening it and logging in I was dazzled by the news that a scientific conference was to take place later in the day in which an update would be shared with the public on the status of investigations attempting to detect the last aspect of Einstein’s General Theory of Relativity. Would he be proven right again on the controversial issue of whether the curvature dynamics of the fabric of Space-Time is of such property that were a massive gravitational incident take place in its net, would it react and generate giant interstellar ripples outwards in every direction, as one would normally observe if a stone were to be thrown into a pond?
Einstein had devised his theory nearly 100 years ago and after its publication, decades of hardworking scientists and engineers entered a collaborative pact and poured out their sweat and passion into perfecting technological instruments sensitive enough to pick up the theoretical ripples. Speculation began to arise that only something as awesome as black hole collisions or explosions would kick-star the ripple effect. The last unproven aspect of Einstein’s life’s work, the stunning irony was that Mr Einstein himself was not a fan of accepting the existence of black holes, although I find them scintillating characters and far from destructive. Perhaps it is my poetical eye that favours them, for they do remind me of a Sufi dervish passionately whirling and spinning away, ego dissolved in its centre to an incomprehensible singularity, and all this dancing taking place in the black Kaaba cloth of the Universe! ♥
I made up my mind that I could not leave the house without Tweeting what my sixth sense told me. I felt birdsong in my fingers and in my mind I saw the ripples spreading out like a huge ring of smiles whilst a teardrop of ecstatic annihilation lay at its heart. I re-typed a sentence that I had written earlier for my Prince of Darkness story and left it at that, however, I was buzzing with the certitude that an AMAZING discovery of epic proportions was on its way to our ears! ♥
When I swished into my classroom I noticed immediately that Sir Lawrie, one of my most adorable students, had a rather special surprise for me. In his hands he held the most hefty and massive book of Shakespeare’s complete works I had ever laid eyes on! The hardcover was a tempting and leathery canvas of wine red with the title embossed in an authoritative font that glistened like gold, the heartbeat of the solar sun itself.
“My goodness, Lawrie, did you carry this all the way for us? It is so very heavy! Tell me you took the bus to bring it to us?” I was overjoyed by the generosity of his spirit and yet I was worried that he may have trudged a long way with a cumbersome weight on his back.
“Mazzy, I walked and anything for you!” Sir Lawrie beamed out his signature smile and his eyes, with cute timidity, disappeared into the folds of his adorable face.
“Oh, Lawrie, you have to be careful. This book is very heavy and I do not want you to hurt your back!” I took a long sigh and looked at him with tender admiration. “However, thank you, my dear, for being so kind and thoughtful to want to share your great treasure with the class. You are a sweety!” And to that Lawrie’s face sparked out an even brighter smile than the first one. I am sure somewhere in the world an iceberg must have melted itself into a milky smoothie!
As we all sat down in our respective seats I pondered on the phenomenal heaviness of the book and interpreted a significant connection between what I had felt in my gut earlier and what was presented before me now by my student. It must mean something, and that something was to make history.
Suddenly, outside the classroom, a bird shrilled and sang out loud and everyone in the room giggled and strained their heads to catch the chirpy tiny chap responsible for the intriguing song. Twice more we were interrupted by his chirping and tweeting and even I began to invest a more focused search for what it was, alas, I could not catch sight of our winged singer. It was almost as if the bird was invisible, undetectable to the eye, elusive and mysterious. Had Mr Robin from my garden followed me to work? I smiled to myself and imagined that it was indeed a magical visitation and who cares that I could not see him, his song encapsulated everything that I would ever need to know about the entire nature of his essence. ♥
Sir Lawrie proudly told the class of his love for Shakespeare’s Sonnets and that is when my heart rang out in remembrance for my favourite sonnet, number 116. I had already decided to myself that I would ask Sir Lawrie if he could locate Sonnet 116 in his treasure chest of a book and that if I may take a portrait of him holding it up. He is a chap who never fails in letting himself blaze with gusto in front of my lens, and that should not come as a shocking surprise to anyone who knows him, the young man is one of the crème-de-la-crème of acting talents for The Blue Apple Theatre!
As he held the book up to the page of interest I re-read the entire passage of Sonnet 116 and every single line of poetical outburst was signifying to me once again that sacred message of True Love, that here was a formidable force undeterred by the passing arrow of time, not a flimsy material prone to deterioration along a fleeting timeline of weeks and months, rather it was the stuff of Eternity and so powerful the Faith in its core that it ‘bears out even to the edge of doom’. I thanked Sir Lawrie and as the class came to a finish I had already felt in the fibres of my being that upon reaching home I would hear the news that I had always known.
Scientific history was made! The L-shaped observatory that is the LIGO detection equipment had on 14/9/15 detected the first ever gravitational wave ripples coursing through the fabric of Space-Time and today, after the normal and strenuous peer-review process of scientific scrutiny, it was announced to the world that at last Einstein’s last aspect of his Theory of General Relatively was firmly established with sound scientific data – literally!
I floated with inviolable joy as I read on to learn that the entire scientific community involved in the project had labelled the perceptible data package underlying the historic claim as a “chirp”, a click of a birdsong sung by the Universe, and it was a song not sung by one but two orbiting black holes, swirling and spinning at accelerated rates, like two Sufi dervishes, a pair of divine lovers who were dancing closer and closer to each other. Around 1.2 billion years ago, the two large black holes, one larger than the other, in a fraction of a second, collided and merged to become as One. Their union spurt out an extraordinary shock wave of energy that was equivalent to three solar masses, transferring into the surrounding fabric of Space-Time and stimulating a succession of ripples that spread out in every direction at the speed of light.
Shakespeare penned his idealisation of True Love as something that would ‘bear out at the edge of doom’ and what could be more catastrophic in our physical universe than the merciless jaws of a giant black hole. Today I heard, despite the perplexing enormity of the physical chaos and destructiveness that occurred over a billion years ago, somewhere deep in space and before a time that I took on human form, the gentle birdsong of True Love that had fought and escaped so to reach our ears. Einstein was right!
Echoed, echoed, echoed, did the chirpy song of Mr Robin in my garden today, and the unseen bird outside my classroom today, and the song of an olden Love story somewhere deep in the Kaaba fabric of Space-Time, also today… ♥♥♥
Photography & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Winchester | UK 2016
A fanatical passion for flashy wheeled ‘boxes’, Samka could not wait one more minute to jump into her new chocolatey-coated chariot and drive off into the sunset! Our thrilling forage through the clandestine world of overarching green leafy giants and squidgy brown undergrowth was as much adventure as she could take in one day and it was now time to depart and return to her more familiar home comforts of the city.
Of course, I did not let it known to her at the time, but I secretly wished to stay on longer, and the most excellent idea popped into my head, of camping out in the woods, to sit under the naked roof of the night-sky whilst telling tales around an open log fire! AMAZING!
But, I conceded that it was time to go.
A sigh passed out from between my lips, the sort one releases when saying goodbye to something or someone whom one has intense reverence for, however, dear Reader, it was not to be the end of this MOTION PICTURE!
Out of nowhere, as is the lot of all eccentric geniuses who see such things, the lightning weight of SIR NEWTON’S APPLE fell on my hobbity head and I saw IT! Halt to the UNIVERSAL LAWS OF MOTION that underlies the driving force behind all metal ‘boxes’ I exclaimed to Samka, and I quickly got her to train her eyes on a most fascinating object that had caught my attention and that lay way back from the path from which we had just come from. How could I have missed it before? Shame on me, indeed!
“PICTURE ABHI BACK HI HAIN!” [This motion picture is not yet finished!]
Dragging her by the arm and she, completely overcome with disorientated bafflement, as if someone had thrown over her head a thick blanket and was pulling her off to an unknown location, I pushed her in front of the silver metallic instrument proudly propped atop a jagged stony plinth, whose design was not dissimilar to the natural proclivities of geology reputed for always placing the sought after prize at the summit of the MOUNTAIN. The entire perimeter of this miniature mountain was embellished in my beloved VERY MERRY BERRY RED BALLOONS!
Well, let me introduce You to what was on that summit:
A Sundial ♥♥♥
It was once envisioned by Sir Newton who went on to construct it when he was still a precocious child, and a drawing of it remains, encased in a BOX, from which You can begin to appreciate the depth of his uncontrollably fertile mind, geared and filled with an insatiable and authentic love for Learning. Sound familiar? Giggle, giggle!
Like a child who had just stumbled upon the greatest treasure ever known to man, woman and chimp, I raced out a colourful explanation as to how sundials work: the almost miraculous way the gnomon projection is aligned to the earth’s axis and how a single SHAFT OF LIGHT from the sun seductively slides down the blade to cast a shadow on the surface of the dial, all this play of Light and Shadow from which the time of day could be mapped and read. I cannot get enough of it, what an AMAZING piece of mathematical engineering, an abstract love letter that praises the laws of Physics and then goes on to print invisible numbers on Your pulse where a watch would have sat… ♥♥♥
ALAS, I do not think Samka was that interested in my scientific treatise, for she had recruited her own saucy brand of gumption to indicate and lecture me, fair and square, on her theory that the gnomon projectile looked remarkably like something else which I shall forbid to utter here in case my Amma or my younger fans read any of this! AHEM, AHEM! I choked with irrepressible laughter and subsequently experienced a total loss of my fine motor skills, finding it horribly difficult to turn the knobs of my camera to compose the frame. My imagination hilariously invaded and violated by Samka’s timely visual metaphors, only God knows how I managed to take a reasonable shot of my friend next to her new pet without ‘camera shake’ in the mix – oh blast, look how polluted my terminologies have become! HAHAHAHA! What more can I add, only that, no matter how perilously twisted the obstacles ahead, I – AHEM AHEM – never harbour the intention to give up!
Oh, and a word of counsel for my all-time admirer WHO is out there, if You wish to call upon me then it is no mundane-built mobile phone that shall succeed in dialling a connection between You and I, though I shall permit You to employ the services of a Sundial. What is the dialling code for the Sun, You enquire? Nah, that would be far too kindly of me and a gross insult to Your formidable cunning ways, I sense that sometimes You give Yourself undeservedly less credit than what You are actually due… ♥♥♥
Photography & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Sparsholt Countryside|Hampshire | UK 2015
Ladies, Gentlemen and Children, You may or may not remember my very honourable friend of the northern shires of England, the minuscule-proportioned but acutely gifted Trojan horse of intellectual wit whose calibre is of the sort that could neatly slice the edges of paper into a thousand more strips, Mr Talha is a Force who ought to deserve his own unit of measurement! HOWEVER, I beat him at his own game and he coiled back in the most adorable display of defeat and resignation! I have been in contact with my northern family since and the news is he is doing exceptionally well in his studies, to an extent that has induced panic attacks in the principal lest their seat of power is usurped by the Talha phenomenon!
One of the most memorable quotes that my good friend confessed emphatically after he realised that I was not a lady to be messed with was, “I can’t believe a woman just beat me in my own game!” Oh what a traditionist of a little darling he is, I could hug him for an eternity for being so cutely old-fashioned! If it were any other man I would have JUDO CHOPPED him on the spot, an exception to the rule, there is always one, must be made for my Mr Talha, and thus, to draw him out of his agonising confusion over why I did not behave as the submissive female figure in our repartee, I offered a cure for his appeasement. I explained to him that he was the only chap in the world for whom I would agree to donning a pair of high-heels – ON THE CONDITION that the two of us embark on a dinosaur expedition together! The Youtube link was my pitch and he, like a true megalomaniac, was restored to his original peace of mind knowing that the scale of my doting was infinitely larger than him! I recommend You watch the video first so that You may experience the full, jaw-dropping significance of why Mr Talha appears so smoothly appeased in the portrait! Hehehehehehe…!!!! :))
Photography & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Northumberland | UK 2015