Alex Hamilton’s phone call changed my life
By
Asmath Sabira
Amina Azmath
Mohammad Faiz Ali
* * * * *
PUBLISHED BY:
Mohammad Faiz Ali & Amina Azmath
Copyright © 2013 by Mohammad Faiz Ali & Amina Azmath
Thank you for downloading this free ebook. Although this is a free book, it remains the copyrighted property of the author and may not be reproduced, scanned, or distributed for any commercial or non-commercial use without permission from the author. Quotes used in reviews are the exception. No alteration of content is allowed. If you enjoyed this book, then encourage your friends to download their own free copy.
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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.
We hope you enjoy the story as much as we enjoyed writing it.
*****
Many thanks to Mohammed Sabir Ali & Sajid Ali who helped us edit and revise this story. Also, thank you to Ayaan and Arhaan who have offered their support and have allowed us to practise our writing skills on them.
“Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it.”
― Rumi
How do some people live such self less lives?
How and when do they accept other’s pain as theirs? When and how does this transition happen?
In our traditions, they say, you should know you are a chosen one of God, when every moment, in your heart is rising a sea of kindness and love and desire to love and help everyone around you.
How does this sea come to be?
What pushes them to decide to make a difference? To make a difference to the lives of ‘others’?
The ‘others’ that people like me don’t even think about! The ‘others’ we see around but do not recognize!
We see the same world that these people do. The difference is in the way we see it. We see it like what we could gain from the world. They see it like what the world could gain from them.
Dec 11th 2006
I have never been this restless ever in my life.
The suspense is killing me. I cant wait for 4 pm. I am shivering in excitement and anticipation, a bit of anxiety too.
My heart is pounding faster than ever. Innumerable thoughts are crowding in my mind.
The mere mention of my mother on a phone is making me anxious,
How can anybody know my mother? Here in England, in a land so far away from her own. A land she never visited.
How can anybody have belongings of my mother?? How?? What can they be?
Was it really a British ascent???
No doubt it was??
he said his name was Alexander Hamilton.
A string of endless questions are arising within me.
Human mind can be tricky some times. At times when time is the only solution, it behaves as if; it is in race with the time itself.
Such is the state of my mind,
A unique feeling, very strange to me, something of this nature that I have never felt before.
Knowing time will unveil my answers, which is at least an hour from now; my restlessness is increasing even more with each passing second.
Not long ago did I receive a phone call. A phone call from a complete stranger asking for me. His words are still buzzing in my head..
At first I was puzzled at this bold, unfamiliar, British voice asking whereabouts of my mother. What startled me even more was the tone in which it was delivered, with such an intense respect and honour, the owner of that voice certainly seemed to know my mother.
I have wondered enough how could it be, because my mother had never visited this part of the world. I can do nothing else but wait. And it isn’t easy.
.............................................................................
It is a cold, gloomy Sunday morning outside. There is nothing uncommon about the weather for this part of the year. Plus it is drizzling making it the perfect December in London.
it is a weekend and I woke up late, lazily. Last night, my daughter Ayra was not in a mood to sleep early at all, she never is.
Her innocent questions after every story telling session will make you wonder how she comes up with them! Plus it also means you aren’t sleeping early at all. So I woke up groggy, and now, this phone call shakes me up.
In my cosy east London apartment Ayra is busy with her toys scattered all over.
And I am waiting for the mysterious caller who spoke not much more than asking me my details and address, and the mention of my mother of course.
These wide Victorian windows with these netted curtains have definitely been built on a purpose. I think I know it now. My eyes peep through these windows scanning every passing car.
My wife , who is always ‘tidyin up’ something has been tiding up the guestroom today, after a while she walks up to me and makes sit down in the comfy sofa holding my hand sensing my anxiety says ...
"Hello??He has our postcode and number... I’m sure he will ring you as soon as he is here.”
I do not feel like turning or answering her now. I feel she cannot understand my state of mind.
She pauses for a second and adds as if convincing me. "This is not India... my dear, People reach here in given time.”
Deep down I know she understands me very well. She is as puzzeled as I am and is eagerly waiting for the moment, but is keeping calm as usual… so unlike me..
Sometimes I wish I could acquire that quality of her’s.
There is a storm in my head right now. It has been more than 25 years since my mother passed away. I was just 2 years old, since then my grandma has been my world. I call her Mimmi, I don’t know how but it has always been that way..
But in spite of never seeing my mother (apart from infancy), I almost know all about her, its almost like I have known her intimately all my life.
It is through Mimmi that If know her.
My mother had a heart of gold, soft spoken, a woman of few, very few words. She never hurt anyone, always read people’s needs from the look of their eyes.
My mother was Mimmi’s only child.
Ours is a very remote fishing village on the southern coast of the subcontinent, a few hours’ drive from the much known metropolitan city of madras now known as Chennai. There is nothing extraordinarily special about my village, except that I love it for what it is.
If I go back generations, It is here that my entire family tree my mother ,my grandfather and his father were born...there is almost everything I know of my place and almost everything about my mother..
I was only a baby when my mother left this world for ever leaving me in the hands of her mother..." my Mimmi".....
Since then Mimmi is everything for me, my mother my father my world....
Ever since, Mimmi lost her daughter. Mimmi shared every incident of my mother with me, though I must agree not in the most direct form. But I could always read through her heart.
And I knew for sure her daughter was an essential part of her and Mimmi made it a point that I know my mother well myself.
Every incident of my mother, from her childhood until her last hour, Mimmi made it a point to mention them all to me.
There could hardly be a son who knew of his mother's yester years as well as I did.
They are all printed in my mind, like how you
remember every scene of your favourite movie you have seen many times.
I can say I have lived my moments with my mother in my Mimmi's stories. And I am very proud of them.
The picture of my mother, I have in my heart is of that of a humble human with the heart of a saint.
And as for Mimmi her daughter will always remain the most
" adorable darling with a very beautiful heart, a mother could ever cherish".
And that is the reason why my Mimmi wanted me to introduce me to this cherished jewel of her heart, years after she had left this world for ever.
the mention of my mother from a stranger here in UK, has got me thinking about the little stories of mother mimmi would often tell me.
One such incident is when my mother was 8years old.
Mimmi had packed the lunch for her daughter.
But my mother demanded for 2 boxes saying this was for her friend.
So Mimmi packed for two without a question. Then the days followed with similar demands.
In those days, most of the population of subcontinent was below the breadline. One more portion of food everyday meant a great deal. Thus this demand had soon to come to an end.
There was no other go left for Mimmi but to discipline her by packing just one box. My mum agreed for that without any objection. She was not of a demanding kind at all, meekest of all; she couldn’t hurt a fly.
Two such months passed by, my mother started looking weak, almost anorexic, what then came to light didn’t amuse mimmi much
my mother had started skipping her lunches and feeding a very poor child who lived just in front of the school.
Each time Mimmi has mentioned this incidence to me she adds this proudly of her daughter
"My daughter, your mother was a little lilly, who lives only for a a day but pleases many an eye with its beauty. A kindly woman was your mother "
So she was..there is no doubt about it. Serving people selflessly ,realizing their pain as her own, finding happiness in other people's happiness and doing good for them as much as she could, were inbuilt in her.
There is this one more incident Mimmi never gets tired mentioning. By now Mimmi was very familiar with my mother’s nature.
It might have been a year after the previous one
It was geometry class, there was this boy, my mum’s classmate,
he was dull and never good at academics. In fact he never showed any interest in studies. He would never get a geometry box in spite of the teacher asking him many times to get one. This was the last ultimatum from the teacher today. The teacher shouted at him and then warned the entire class saying, “today is the last day of excuse for not getting the geometry box, if you do not get the geometry box,” there was a pause for some time then the teacher continued “tomorrow you will only only yourself to blame for what punishment I give you.”
The next day, my mum slowly slipped her geometry box into his bag without anyone noticing it.
And she had to take the beatings on her hand.
What she didn’t realize was that the boy had seen her slip it in his bag silently and take the beatings.
For my mum, she had always been this way, but it changed the boy’s life forever. For the first time in his life he could think from a different perspective.
His mother was a domestic worker who earned meagre, her greatest desire was, her son should never have to face the hardship that she was facing hence with great difficulty she had managed to get his admission in the school but The boy had failed to understand this, he always cursed his faith for being poor and never took any interest in studies. He could never understand the feelings of his mother nor could he ever feel how hard it was for his mother even to pay for the books while she struggled to pay for his school fees. He simply felt it was her fault for not earning good money like the other parents in the school.
Today my mother had changed his perspective, he could get into the heart of his mother and could realise how hard did his mother work, how difficult it was for her to make ends meet but she was doing all this for him, for her son to get a better life. For the first time he could understand the true meaning of his mother’s struggle and for the first time instead of cursing her for not being rich he made a determination that he would work hard, study well and will make his Mother’s dream come true .he realised life is much more than just thinking about self ,he realised life is not about cursing others for not having the things the way we want, he realised being rich or poor is nothing when there is determination and desire to achieve things, he realised with his hard work he can achieve the unachievable.
And that was it, no turning back from then. He worked hard, studied in the street lights and never complained about the things he never had but worked hard to get them. He had got the essence of life through hard work. Soon he was the top ranked student in the class and the best student the school praised of and gave examples of...
That was the day the kid took to his books like moth to flame, he studied with unusual interest, unusual grads followed. Sometimes in life we are looking, but we really don’t understand, the kid was looking at his mom pay his school fees under difficult circumstances. She worked doubly hard just to make sure her son ‘too’ went to ‘that good school’.
Today he realised the gravity of it all. He’d got a new sense of direction in his life.
__
The rain moved on, time moved on, a few months later I was born. As I started breathing in this world, my mother’s lungs perhaps starting growing tired. Her immune system was always weak, pneumonia happened. She fell sick with pneumonia , frustrated at being and feeling tired. Wanting to hold me, but she wouldn’t be able to to. She would have to satisfy herself by looking at me sit in my grand ma’s lap. That is what was meant to be, me growing up in grand ma’s lap.
My mother wanted to get well, she knew she absolutely had to. She couldn’t.
One cold and cloudy night the moon would hide and unhide behind clouds, just as my mother slipped in and out of consciousness. The moon eventually must have come out of the cloud cover, my mother didn’t though.
It was a soft death. Peaceful. My mother’s eyes were teary, moist when she breathed her last. It started drizzling later that night, heavy rains followed. ‘it was as if the sky was crying that night’ is what my grand ma would often say.
She would also say ‘your mother has become a start and is watching over you’. I didn’t know if that was meant to make me feel better, but it didn’t. but what must also be said that it didn’t make me sad either. I was too young to know of my mother’s absence perhaps. Because for me, my grand ma was what to most other kids their mother is. For this, I will be forever thankful to her.
My grand father didn’t live much long after that, I dint remember much of him, grand ma never told me. He died in a month from my mother, mimmi had lost her husband.
My father was a farmer, a hard working farmer. It’s a tough job being a farmer in india.
One morning he set out to his field for another day’s work. It was biting cold and misty. Very misty. He must have been lost in thoughts, for he could neither hear nor see the speeding truck as he was walking towards his fields.
His death came to light later that day when sun penetrated the mist enough for people to see.
People saw, and people talked. ‘3 years into this world, this boy has costed 3 lives in his family’. People called me names as I grew up, unpleasant names. Some called me a dreadful omen, some even called me a curse.
Grandma called me neither. For her, I was a reason to live.
Whatever hiccups she came across. However dark her future looked to her, how many ever winds she had to bear, she never showed it out to me.
To me, she was a tree, in whose roots I would find strength and support, in whose branches I found shade and shelter, In whose fruits I found the mother’s love I had missed.
The door bell suddenly came to life, bringing me back to my present, dragging me away from th
e past I had dreamily been thinking about. Like I was in a trance, in another world, another time. The door bel rang again, I hurriedly opened the door to see an elegant man, immaculately well dressed,looking rich, oopulant, but anxious, almost tensed!
He stood at the door and looked at me intently without looking away for a second , as if searching in me, someone he had lost eons ago.
He was a tall man with broad shoulders holding a large bouquet of fragrant white lilies. His silver Porsche parked in front of my house.
after inspecting me questioningly, he smiled.
‘hello ! I’m Alexander Hamilton’ he said, offering his hand for a hand shake.
I was a little apprehensive at first but then His deep blue eyes penetrated mine assuring a wealth of warmth and a homely feeling, added with a firm friendly handshake making me invite a complete stranger whole heartedly into my house.
There was something about his smile, it overwhelmed my heart, erasing all the jigsaws my mind was playing around.
They say first impression is the best impression. In this case It held true for me through out.
The mild fragrance of lilies filled the passage way and well through into the living room while they hung their coats and mufflers onto the coat hanger.
Alexander was wearing a beige and brown cashmere jumper with a electric blue shirt collars popping out.
'Alex Hamilton's phone call changed my life' Page 1
