In 158 Words: Mumsy, Join Me In London For A Spot Of Food, Shopping, And A Safari!

Old photographs embroidered in threads of new words and whose count equals to my height measurement in centimetres…

As far as the unquenchable thirst for adventure goes that blessed trait is one, which beyond a doubt, I easily acquired from my outgoing Abba. My Mumsy, on the other hand, is a different matter! She prefers to host little dinner parties at home and is at her element to the fullest as long as the roof is snugly spread over her head! I am quite the opposite, as You very well know by now!

Before setting out to gallop my muddy sneakers through the traffic-clad jungles of our cosmopolitan capital, London, I pleaded to my Mumsy to join me for a refreshing escapade of food, drink and shopping. She, of course, robustly declined! Upon my return I jumped on her and exclaimed that she had missed a rare opportunity to observe a tiger hitch a ride on a bus around Piccadilly Circus!

Naturally she and my aunties laughed it off. Grownups are strange people indeed! Giggle, giggle! ♥♥♥

There's A Tiger In Piccadilly Circus!

“Ladies and Gentlemen and Children, behold the spectacle of Destiny! I give you a tiger on a bus in the middle of Piccadilly Circus! The poor stripy fellow stuck in the world’s most urbanite jungle, he seeks the OPEN wild, for there, somewhere, lies his true HAPPINESS…”


Photography Originally Posted In: ‘A Tiger In Piccadilly Circus’ | © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | UK 2014
Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | UK 2016


The Writing On The Wall…

The little girl who had been sat for a very long time, deep in joyful enchantment since she was surrounded by the most amazing emporium of wooden toys and trinkets that had not ever stepped foot in her dreams, now sat up from her cushion and made her way to something that was hung on the wall in front  of her. She could not explain what it was that pulled her towards it, only that she felt that she had become as drawn to it as the way mountainous waters are born to seek the mouth of rivers that lead it, in the end, to the satisfying and endless basin of the ocean. A path embroidered by a homeward hand.

Each step that she took to the framed object on the wall echoed a tinkle of a bell from somewhere around her ankles, and she somewhat confused and yet smiling, lowered her head to see how that could possibly be. She had never worn anything of the sort, and when she looked, her eyes could find nothing that that could be said to be responsible for such moonlit music, her feet were still housed in her mucky sneakers and her ankles were bare.

The music was coming from elsewhere.

She came closer to the framed picture on the wall and a small part of her felt somehow more at home than she had ever felt in her entire life, there was a strange memory swirling around her gut and it wanted to prise through her dawn flesh and tell her something of the life that she had once lived, in a far, far away land. A life where she had once carpentered Words with Freedom.

Gently touching the words encased under the framed glass, she questioned herself, could this be what it felt to touch the face of an old friend? Sighing and not yet realising why, she turned around slowly and let her head lean against the top edge of the frame. Where a beginning and an end and another beginning met, that is where she stood, and her face an innocent temple of silent longing, she heard the music again, a calling thread down by a soft pillar of Light. It tasted of the nectarine heart of undiscovered flowers.

I was the girl, and yes, I did let it in… ♥♥♥ 


The Writing On The Wall Flew Me Away!

“… Where a beginning and an end and another beginning met, that is where she stood, and her face an innocent temple of silent longing, she heard the music again, a calling thread down by a soft pillar of Light…”

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


To Mr Porter, The One Who Crossed The Lines To Carry Me

“Oh! Mr Porter, what shall I do?
I want to go to Birmingham
And they’re taking me on to Crewe…?”

Fortune, small as it was, glistened on my side that dreadful, foggy, colonial winter’s night
For Mr Porter was The Fat Controller, a chap famously known to be polite!

“It’s alright my dear Hobbit girl, Her Majesty’s soldiers won’t find You here”
And pointed he did swiftly to a gap to blend in, to disappear

Jumperless and cold, skin shivered to whispers of ice
The Fat Controller pitied and he pulled out something nice

“Take this, my dear! Furry feet You have though nothing to wrap on top
This jumper to keep You warm until You reach Snow Hill Station’s stop.”

Holding his hand in mine, my frayed fingerless wool mittens
I thanked my friend with my eyes as endearing as a pair of kittens.

Looking out one last time, then hunched on cog-bones of metal
Sighed out to stars above, how I wished for tea and kettle

Chug-chug the coal-hearted lizard wrote along tracks into the seamless unknown
Over via-ducts of bricks, by new rivers, sidling dark forests groan

Peril at my heels but I sought hard to lean back to contemplate
A good thought to mind came about the nature of a Soulmate

For I bear a Ring of Power that to Snow Hill Station I must take
A folly’s errand, I would have failed, please at that make no mistake!

If it were not for God to appear as He did that colonial night of nights
Who carried not the Ring but the Ring Bearer herself so to reach my destined rights

He’s just a Porter to the world, no one seems to notice, or to him give any care
But to me he is my fatty Soulmate, who saw my Destination outweighed the fare

“Oh! Mr Porter, what shall I do?
I want to go to Birmingham
And they’re taking me on to Crewe…?”

AFTERWORD: My Birmingham tribe are well versed in my eccentric interests, they have long ceased to question why I am the way I am or poke fun at the myriad passions I hold for things that traditionally do not fall into the remit of the mindset of an Asian lady. Steam locomotives of olden times are one such artefact, as You have come to know by now, and I suppose there cannot have been no more an affectionate a gesture my family of the Middle Lands could have made than to have organised a whole day of sightseeing at their city’s impressive ‘ThinktankScience Museum where a dedicated gallery exists on the subject of the golden era of travel! When I heard the news the ecstasy and delight overtook my little hobbity feet like an invasion of excitable ants and I demanded that we made haste, a single moment could not go to waste! I was yearning to be re-united with the wheels of the olden times!

It was there that my jaws crashed to the ground as I found myself stood in front of the massive black wheels of the former Great Western Railway’s glory, a preserved Castle Class Locomotive! I boarded the vessel and even, in my disorientating madness, stuck my head into the furnace where the coal used to be shovelled and chucked into by soot-faced servicemen! Before boarding off I noticed a wall of antiquated signs from Birmingham’s Snow Hill Station that had been preciously collected and preserved for display. One small section spoke about the hardships that were endured in the life of the railway porter, carrying the whole world on his back so to speak. I was immediately overwhelmed by the unifying thread that linked the responsibilities of the Porter of the real world with that of the mythic task once long ago assigned to an unassuming and little Hobbit of Middle Earth. Destiny manifested in the most beautiful of expressions, I smiled as like Frodo had done, peacefully and quietly, assured that I was never at any point abandoned to loneliness in my quest, there is another like I, a Visionary chap, and even at present I am not quite sure what he REALLY looks like in this lifetime… ♥

But to end for now, Ladies, Gentlemen & Children, I offer up this poem puffed out of my imagination and whose fare You have paid me satisfactorily by Your taking the time to read it. I trust You employed the Admiral telescope to inspect the written text on the wall… :)) :)) :))

The world follows my Words, yet in the end only ONE will persist to meet me
Always Your Loving Riddle,
Mazzy xxx

To Mr Porter 1

“Oh! Mr Porter, what shall I do?
I want to go to Birmingham
And they’re taking me on to Crewe…?”

To Mr Porter 2

“… It’s alright my dear Hobbit girl, Her Majesty’s soldiers won’t find You here
And pointed he did swiftly to a gap to blend in, to disappear…”

Photography & Poetry: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Birmingham Thinktank Science Museum | Birmingham | Midlands | UK 2015


The Leisurely Chronicles of Two Ladies, High Tea And Other Childish Miscellany At Lainston House!

My Dearest & Treasured Reader,

In jubilant celebration of what has been one of the most memorably exciting summer holidays for me I am keen to present to You the spectacularly amusing but no less touching photo-diary of my fantabulous girly getaway with one of my closest and dearest friends, Samka! Nestled in picturesque rolling green acres of English countryside, where lime trees, oaks, elms and beeches lushly abound, a stately 17th Century manor house – the sort Austen, Bronte and even Sir Arthur Conan Doyle would gladly make accommodation for a weekend of quality writing, away from those prying eyes of the madcap city – two girls in their middle age decidedly made it their bespoke sanctuary!

A breath-taking labyrinthine castle steeped in aristocratic aesthetics, the luxurious gardens and high classical columns grandly erected on the outside of the building were enough to impress on us that we were about to be thoroughly pampered and quite justifiably so, it was about high time that our feet indulged in a restful break from the countless adventures the both of us had accrued over the summer!

Each room felt that it had been authenticated by the distinguishable air of a royal presence. Paintings and wall murals gilded in aged gold, armchairs made of the finest upholstery, and walls plastered in the most attractive of decorative designs inspired from the botanica of the natural world besieged our breaths. Oh and do not get me started on the business of the etiquette of serving tea!! Dapper waiters in pristine white shirts and black waistcoats, glided across the room with the most adorable of smiley faces, bending down to take our orders and, my goodness me, I cannot tell You precisely the number of times we sent the chaps to fetch us tea! It would be madness to declare a number for I fear You may never want to read my works again! And when the high tea arrived, in a decorous arrangement of a silver teapot and a merry-go-round of fine bone china cups, saucers and milk jugs, I was literally over the moon to discover that my tea had come to me in loose leaf form – a far more superior incarnation when the matter of taste is concerned! As the seductive fumes of Lapsang Souchang tea languidly rose from our cups, gunpowder and smoky and golden, Samka and I sat back in our comfortable armchairs in the the palatial lounge room and let out deep long sighs in unison! Ah, what joy it is when after the turbulence of activity, rest finally comes, in soothing, lulling waves…

ENOUGH OF THE LADYSHIP ACT! We did not rest, how could we do so when I had my electronic steed at my heels!? GIGGLE, GIGGLE! After guzzling down several doses of the jolly brew, we jumped up and nearly scared the circle of businessmen out of their wits who were stationed at the back of the room! My research had equipped me with the privileged knowledge that the building had oodles of rooms to explore and since the day outside was as grim as the grim reaper’s cloak, the bucketing of downpours never wanting to stop, I suggested to Samka that we venture into all the rooms and hidden corners and harness the different qualities and textures of ambient light and that she be my model! Samka never shies away from my lens, she is well-resourced with a natural flair for wanting to strut her beautiful face whenever the orders are despatched from me! How immensely convenient that I should have such a pliable friend in my circle! Giggle, giggle!

In my instance, Photography and the art of Visual Storytelling are not chores or the exacting of a business deal, it is a passion that has made acquaintance with my life pulse and for which there is no rest. I sincerely pray that as You scroll through the Lainston House photo-diary You, too, will be satisfactorily appeased when I say that, despite what appearances may suggest as one sees me rushing about with my equipment at a time when leisure and rest is prescribed and expected of, to click away like a Mad Hatter is a most pleasurable habit that serves to renew my spirits time and time again.

As is my modus operandi, I request that You have as Your accomplice the finest brew of tea at Your side before proceeding to view my gallery of visual treats! A caption as short as me is provided under each image and should Your eyes be of a lazy constitution then may I suggest that You click on the picture of interest for a size tantamount to a blue whale’s bottom! Giggle, giggle!

I raise my teacup in salutary style to You, my most beloved Reader, for though You remain hidden to my mortal eyes the sustenance of Your Faith and Love in my Vision is the reason why I am blessed to wake up to not one but two sets of dawns every morning… :)) :)) :))

You know I am eternally Yours,

Mazzy xxx

Samka Librarian

“I dare say, have You ever laid eyes on a more beautiful librarian in Your life?! I was tempted to pull the spines of each book forward because I fancied that by doing so one of them would activate a hidden mechanism and a secret door would slide open…”


Samka Bar

“Samka stylishly walked across the lounge towards the warmly lit bar and effortlessly perched herself on the high stool, casually letting her eyes glide around the room as if she owned the entire place! I would have required an abseiling crew to reach the summit of those stools so I made peace with my fate and continued to click away from afar…!”


Samka's Man

“Samka has just spotted her knight in shining armour galloping towards the window, a Mr Gerard Butler I am told! What remarkable similarity in her frame to that of the sentinel watchers of the meerkat community…!”

Samka Problem-Solving

“Why is a raven like a writing desk? A trademark addiction, I cannot help but to deploy this wriggling riddle onto my loved ones and, as You can gather quite clearly, Samka’s loss of an answer caused her to resign to chewing on her spectacles…!”

Samka Stomper

“We were stomping up and down the stairs with the tread pressure of an angry rhino! In a bid to hide from the Manager we lay low for a bit which also proffered us valuable time to have out breaths return to normal…!”

Samka's Shoes

“Samka considers a potential upgrade! You can never go wrong with a sturdy pair of British Wellingtons…!”

Samka's Smartphone

“Unlike my unconventional abstinence from the noisy world of the Smartphone, Samka relishes hers like it was her own baby! Her we can see her checking us in on Facebook which I always find to be the most strangest thing one can ever do! I asked her with cheeky retort whether Facebook requires us to check out as well and does it overcharge if we were to stay a little longer…?!”

Samka's Light

“I was obviously too preoccupied with fiddling with the settings on my camera because the next time I looked up, to my astonishment, my friend was bathed in the most exquisite afternoon light that had at last poured itself free out of the entanglements of rain and leaden clouds…”

Samka & Chess

“Samka was fierce in her insistence that she ought to revise my understanding of how that game of games, Chess, is truly played! I gulped hard and long, suddenly her shoes had become as imposing and domineering as the gaze of the blackest raven…”

Pillars Of Friendship

“The Pillars of Friendship, my claims may not be of modest proportions and apologies if they taste of flamboyant grandiosity but, as she reached her arm round to hug the pillar, its warm and supportive effect was felt in my own heart…”

Samka At It Again!

“Oh my dearest Samka, abandon thy efforts to solve the riddle on ravens and writing desks and take stock of that Gerard Butler coming at you from across the lawn…!”

Samka's Collars

“Samka, I can explain a great many things but on the pressing issue of why your anorak was born of short collars, I must step down in defeat and beg that you seek an alternative counsel to help rid you of your burning puzzlement…!”

Beauty In Unexpected Places

“It was a feast for my senses to know that irrespective of the mundane or dull or uninspiring corners of the estate, in concerted effort my friend and the ambient light preyed upon such atmospheres and in their place could instil a renewed focal point of interest such as to give rise to the impression that in an old place a new tale was about to be told…!”

Samka's Steed

“You are well acclimatized to the fact that I fancy the smoking dragon of the tracks – steam trains to be precise – but my Samka is bred with the more popular passion for ‘boxes with circles’! I simply adore the pride she wears on her face and body for her moving polygonal baby, it would be a gross injustice if I had foregone this opportunity to document this relationship on camera. Do not ask me where my head came up to when I sat in the front passenger seat, I do believe Samka at one point grab held my head thinking it was the gear stick…!”

Photography & Words:  © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Sparsholt | Hampshire | UK 2015

TOMBOY ALERT! 92212 British Railways Standard Class 9F

BEWARE, this article may sound incredibly boring to those whose minds are disinclined to gear their attention towards reading accounts of exuberant praises of one of the finest examples of British industrial age engineering! For nerds and tomboys, You are in for a veritable treat! Giggle, giggle!

Designed for British Railways by Mr Riddles in the 1950s, this powerful locomotive was initially intended to travel at fast speeds – 35mph (!) – operating freight trains and after a few modifications were applied by Mr Riddles, a more efficient relationship between fuel consumption and load distribution was achieved. This steamer has the mighty lady power to carry 900 tons at any one time, although just before the Fat Controller stomps aboard she is known to let out a boom of smoke to remind him that he ought to go on a calorie-controlled diet! Hehehehe!!!!

Ladies, Gentlemen and Children, I am enormously excited to present to You the sublime supernova of steel, the ineffably cool, the ethereally seductive, the transcendent cloud-puffer, the First Lady of the Tracks, The 92212 Class 9F!

EPILOGUE:  I would only ever marry a man who was brave enough to engage with me in a discussion on the subject of steam locomotives! Choo-choo, could it be You…? :))

LINK: I shall leave it in Your good telepathic intelligence to decipher which trains would LINK You to my Home… :))

92212 - British Railways Standard Class 9F

“… This steamer has the mighty lady power to carry 900 tons at any one time, although just before the Fat Controller stomps aboard she is known to let out a boom of smoke to remind him that he ought to go on a calorie-controlled diet…”


Photography & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Summer Reunions | Alresford – Alton | UK 2015

Love Is The Telepathy Of The Heart

The art of the written and spoken word impassioned itself into my bloodstream from a very early age, I recognised and appreciated that the expression of language was a fascinating virtue of our human condition and with it came the endless possibilities for creative exploration.  I do regard myself quite fortunate to have been raised in a house where more than one language was spoken and, though not completely fluent in Hindi and Bengali, I can get by without too many hiccups! At school I was designated to learn modern European languages which I did rather well in and whereas the other pupils saw such classes as an unnecessary burden, I relished it as yet another fruitful opportunity to master a new language, a new soul that held the key to unlocking another part of the world’s culture.

HOWEVER, there is always an exception to the rule which is precisely the reason why my mind is never of the architecture of a strict compartmentalised box, it resembles more of an ocean that has never ever heard of the concept of boundary or border. And where does this so-called spiky exception exist? In Love.

What, You do not take my word for it? Ah, well, to cast away those thorny doubts that haunt Your better judgement I suggest You take a close look at the photograph below. Aunty Mazzy – that would be me – and my little friend, Kento, who had come all the way from Japan to hop on a steam train journey with me through rolling English countryside, did not speak or understand a single word of English. Likewise, Aunty Mazzy could not utter a single sentence in Japanese! We were in the same boat – sorry – train! Nevertheless, we clicked from the word go – I do apologise, my puns are turning rather cheesy and gastric influx is on the verge of attacking You! Do sit down on the bench behind You, that should ameliorate the pain for a while! Giggle-giggle-giggle!

A universal stream of wordless words transpired between the children and I. We joked, laughed, and communicated using hand gestures throughout but, when it came towards the end of the day, there was nothing for me to say as I began to compose this photograph. My instructions in English would only fall on deaf ears. I looked at little Kento. He looked at me. I gently smiled at him and began to shimmy the camera up to my eye-line, and at that instant an invisible envelope floated out of my heart and settled into his. Written in a language elusive to the eye, little Kento opened my telepathic envelope, read my thoughts and learnt just how much he and his family had made my day a majestically brilliant one; that I would remember this day forever because I has been blessed with the phenomenal luxury of their sweet company, a reunion that occurred in a place teeming with the nostalgia of my beloved steam trains!

That day, little Kento and I never once exchanged a fluent sentence in the other’s language. The warmth of acknowledgment in his golden smile is only explicable if You accept that Love is the telepathy of the Heart. Ah! You sent me a post – I am smiling…  :))

EPILOGUE: A certain cheeky someone, do not ask me WHO he is, requests to see a snippet of my quirky tomboy style and I shall duly oblige him! In Krishna blue shirt, skinny jeans, Orange Vision bag and my Lumiere, I am ready to forge my way into the world! So sorry to have my hair occlude my face but I guess Your cryptic and hidden ways have finally taken their toll on me…! HAHAHAHAHA! :))


Love Is The Telepathy Of The Heart

“… That day, little Kento and I never once exchanged a fluent sentence in the other’s language. The warmth of acknowledgment in his golden smile is only explicable if You accept that Love is the telepathy of the Heart…”


Photography & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Summer Reunions | Ropely Station | UK 2015

Freeze! You Are All Under Arrest!

News has just leaked in that British tractors are the object of affection
For crooked eyes, thieves who steal and sell them off with no objection
How dare they?! What grand impudence! Rudeness that cannot go unmissed
Tractors are important to me, for a future scene in which my Visions are kissed
So stomped in my Special Ed student, a debonair specialist in detainment – a true gem
Intelligence gathered from Interpol quick, behold a composite of all six of them!
Maintain vigilance, keep your eyes peeled, should you see them prowling about
These tractor thieves are cunning as fox, try not to be tricked out
For they’ll appear FROZEN to you, statues lifeless, beckoning you to move on
Cuff their hands on the spot, waste not a second otherwise they’ll be GONE..!!

EPILOGUE & NEWS: This light-hearted and jester-jingling piece was inspired by what I watched on the BBC News this morning. How dreadfully wretched that thieves have nothing better to do than to smuggle out of the country my beloved crown of the countryside, the trusty old tractor! I could not believe my ears as I listened to the newscast! Dear Destiny, please be as kind as to ensure that we have an ample supply of tractors in the future because I am expecting a very SPECIAL encounter by the doors of one… :))


Freeze! You Are All Under Arrest!

“… So stomped in my Special Ed student, a debonair specialist in detainment – a true gem
Intelligence gathered from Interpol quick, behold a composite of all six of them…”

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

“The Force Is Strong In Your Love Story”, Explains Our James Bond

Christmas Month Puzzle Box 6: On The Matter Of The Pen That Is My Sword!

This is to be an immaculate piece of timely adjunction to a post that I had composed previously, right before the start of the summer holidays to be precise. I have chosen to include it in my Christmas Month Puzzle Box series in light of the recent spot of funniness that has been going over the scholastic matter of bad spelling! Ahem, ahem and plenty of giggle, giggle!

Destiny is fully committed to entertaining my words with serious consideration, and more often than not, soon after taking form on paper or screen it becomes translated onto the stage of the real world. The pen is my sword, but what would You say if I were to purposefully loosen the strings on my own principles? Wink, wink!

With stellar sophistication, WATCH how I tweet hilarious errors into Mr SOLO’s RIGHT ear, encouraging him to refer to the film’s hitherto unseen scenes in the language of olden Arthurian English where a Lightsaber duel becomes a “sword fight” – or might he be taking after my own heart to describe a battle of sword-like pens, a war of intellectual proportions? Giggle, giggle!

As for the ‘Kilo’ blunder, Mr Solo fell for that spelling faux pas with gliding ease. In olden English the expression, “dropped like a lead balloon” is a phrase that means literally or figuratively that something will not fly. That it will drop like a rock as the apple had once done so to poor old Newton’s head! Sorry old chap! Since I have been ranting on about the lightness of balloons, this phrase naturally trickled into the wrinkly ear of the pilot of Millennium Falcon when I came to the part of letting him know of what I intend to do with the bad guys! Giggle, giggle! Thus, instead of typing ‘Kylo’, Mr Solo purposefully stamped our collective intentions for the fate of that nastily masked Mr Ren! A spelling error no doubt, but it lends solidarity and weight to our cause… ♥♥♥   

Bad spelling is not necessarily a bad trait, in the right context it could win me over and, with uncontrollable blush, I confess that would be a nice way to meet the sweetest sort of “trouble” for the first time in my life!

Do enjoy reading all this in conjunction with the older post below and I am absolutely certain in my mind that You shall be left gasping for breath, wishing that You could relive every moment as like this, one in which You could take delight in witnessing pieces of a jigsaw fit together to reveal – no – to unveil the beauty and sophistication of what was previously withheld from Your craving eyes… ♥♥♥

Mazzy Rey xxx

LINK TO SOLO’S NON-SOLO SPELLING BLUNDERS:–WJYDixlw9x?utm_source=indy&utm_medium=top5&utm_campaign=i100   

“The Force is strong in your Love Story”, explains our James Bond
A Special Ed student of mine, behold the magic of his wand!
On this final day of college, James painted in homage to my passion
For pigments of rose-red and affections for vehicles out of fashion!
Not a Lamb-orghini GT, nor a conventional oaf of a Mercedes-Benz
I’m the kinda girl who scoots on a double-decker bus with my fountain pen and lens!
A weakling and a wimp my humble bus may look to the world beyond
But one man does not think so, the man who lives across the pond
Fast cars and muscles are illusions that last for a breath of a day
Strong on the outside it gleams but as fragile as papier-mâché
So, look again at my red bus, modelled by our own Bond with a good cause
You’ll see my face in numbers, words and in the Force of Star Wars
And such Force walks with me because I know that I am loved by someone unable to correspond
We’re two weak particles bound by the strongest iconic-ionic bond…

The New Horizons mission has just revealed that my Love has been discovered sitting on Char-On and he is feeling rather depressed which is mostly due to the fact that he thinks he is a goat on a mountain! English was never his strong point! He is actually a Mountain in a Moat… :))


“The Force Is Strong In Your Love Story”, Explains Our James Bond

“… So, look again at my red bus, modelled by our own Bond with a good cause
You’ll see my face in numbers, words and in the Force of Star Wars…”

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

The ‘Decisive Moment’ Series: China Framed

As much as I would leap at the opportunity, with unhinged glee, to travel to the land where tea leaves were first discovered and proven to be a most excellent source of refreshment, my photograph below was taken here in Winchester, England, outside the most amiable tea room of our town. I was admiring the fine craftsmanship of the teapot on display and wished in secret how thrilling it would be if I could suddenly be granted the ability to unlock the meanings behind the Chinese characters on the surface of this prepossessing vessel. Nevertheless, it did not take long for my hands to draw the camera upwards to face the teapot and, I must say in hindsight, the teapot seemed to give me the fond impression that it wanted to be photographed – quite the haughty little creature indeed!


China Framed

“… I must say in hindsight, the teapot seemed to give me the fond impression that it wanted to be photographed – quite the haughty little creature indeed!”


Just before my right finger pressed down on the shutter button I had a peculiar feeling that something magical was about to happen. Hardly any time to ponder on the premonition, my finger went down and the rest is as you see it above. The reflection of a chap on a bicycle ‘crossed paths’ with the Imperial teapot with dramatic synchronicity! China, the land famed for its millions and millions of bicycles had finally caught up with the regal teapot! The feudal system of old China bared its hierarchical framework with elegance and simplicity in the superimposition and I acknowledged, very soon after I had reached home, that behind the most popular beverage in the world lay countless tales of the lives of peasants, merchants, missionaries, politicians, the monarch and they all spun voicelessly round and round in my mind that night, like the wheels of a bicycle…


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