'Alex Hamilton's phone call changed my life'

by Mohammad Faiz Ali

  He looked a gentleman. His blond hair had gone grey at the sides, perfectly suiting his broad face. Clearly he was in his early 60s.

  Looking at him a thought occurred to me, "If alive, my mum would have been almost the same age.”

  He was accompanied by an equally tall boy with blond hair and deep blue eyes. The boy might have been in his early 20s. At the first glance anyone would say they are father and son. The boy was holding a large object covered in a Christmassy gift wrap.

  The coats were on coat hangers, and after having made themselves comfortable in my living room Alexander started to speak.

  He was Alexander Hamilton, with him was his son Harris (Harry) Hamilton.

  He was a big businessman who owned several boats used for punting on the Cambridge river and hired several students for a part time work. His son Jamie was a student himself in Cambridge University pursuing

  his degree in chemical engineering; He added this with a father’s pride.

  I was still surprised and was still unable to figure out how such a person knew my mother.

  To my biggest surprise apart from my name, he knew I worked for a big firm in central London. Later to my relief I realised the credit went to my face book page and my personal website.

  He looked completely at home at my place, like he has come back to his own house after a long journey. Alex looked around my little house, pleased. He saw my little daughter standing at a distance, bemused, shy. He called her over and made small talk.

  He greeted my wife broadly and looked at each of our expectant faces.

  Unable to control my anxiety anymore I asked “have you met my mother?” and then added, “How do you know my mother?”

  He smiled and said we wil come to that, but first I have brought something for you. I hope you like it.

  His son than unpacked the Christmassy wrap for his dad and pulled out a big portrait and gave it to his dad who looked at for a moment before smiling and passing it on to me.

  Confused, I rose and picked the portrait from him and stared. Just stared.

  A beautiful woman sat there looking serene, tranquil, she was the only one in the picture looking at the camera,and… she looked exactly like me, Alex didn’t have to tell me it was my mother.

  He rose and stood next to me awkwardly, I do not remember when I had started to cry silently.

  He then passed on an old hand bag to me, with utmost respect, reverence,

  It was my mother’s . it had my mother’s handwriting, pen, her comb, kaajal, a thin little gold chain, few one rupee and five rupee bills & some loose change.

  Words failed me, I couldn’t believe I was holding my mother’s belongings. I ran my fingers over her comb and I could see her combing her long tresses. The touch of her pen inciting in me, memories of her writing, stooping on the paper, like I do. But memories?

  It was almost like I was living my memories, although I had never seen my mother to have memories of her using the pen or comb or the hand bag. It was unreal.

  I felt light, I felt thankful towards the surprise visit of the kind stranger who stood there nodding his head. I was witnessing a strange afternoon indeed.

  The kindly stranger wasn’t a stranger anymore, in fact to me, he wasn’t human anymore.

  He was an angel,his person looked gigantic to me, I felt him towering over me, his head touching the ceiling, he filled up the room.

  Country, race, religion matter little to great humans. What matters to them is humanity, the brotherhood that comes with it, these men & women are champions of compassion.

  I looked again at the picture, of all the people, only my mother stared back at me.She looked so pretty; with one of her lovely curls just falling on her eyes and her face slightly tilted towards the photographer.

  Dad and Grandpa looked so young .I wonder what my life would be growing up with them. And then my Mimmi looked so beautiful as always but a lot more younger.

  Thinking of Mimmi brought a smile on my face. A childish smile of pride, an innocent joy you feel as a child when you achieve something and are waiting to show-off, this was the smile on my lips now and my eyes were filled with tears.

  I was unable to hide my emotions any more tears rolled of my eyes. I would have gazed and gazed at the photo but with great difficulty I lifted my head away from the photograph and uttered these words to my guest “Do you have any Idea what have you done Alex; you have returned my lost world back to me. I can never thank you enough for this.”

  The mention of the word ‘returned’ had a worried expression on Alex’s face.

  Eye brows raised, and with a grave voice he asked me how my mother was. Apparently he wasn’t aware of her death while I was still a baby.

  “How is your mother doing? I want to present this to her in person and thank her for saving me, in my most critical moment of my life.”

  I was not prepared for this question, I replied him saying, she is no more, I lost her to destiny while was little more than two years old.

  He looked devastated. I could see, he had come with great expectations to meet my mother.

  We both were battling with different emotions when my wife and Harry helped us settle down a bit. My wife had us all seated and served us tea with some other snacks to go with it.

  Alex didn’t speak for a while and then, while we sipped our teas silently he spoke suddenly breaking the silence.

  Gaze fixed on the portrait now resting on the sofa, ‘Your mother was having tea the first and only time I saw her’ said Alex.

  It was 1970, four kids form Britain had just finished their GCSE.

  All their peers were excited, many were travelling, some to spain, some to America. These bunch of kids, not from the most gifted of families but still wanting to tour some fantastic place, chose india.

  It was to be a youthful vacation, I was one of them four kids. It was that age of carelessness. Where the world, for no apparent reason, seemed to be at our feet.

  We were spirited young men, loving the ancient Indian country side and amused by the busy burstling roads of Bombay.

  We kept city hopping from the dusty sand dunes of jodhpur to the crowded galli’s of delhi.

  We had left bag packing.

  Days passed, things went fine as per the plan and our money lasted us better than expected.

  Until the night we boarded the train to Chennai, then Madras. A misfortune struck when we were fast asleep in midnight..... It was morning, by the time we were out of unconsciousness and realised we had been pick pocketed. All the money was gone and wallets missing, including many other valuables except my camera that was hidden deep inside clothes in my suitcase.

  A possession I prized and admired more than anything else. It was easily the costliest thing I possessed, and being from a humble background I valued it so much more. All my memories hidden in it to be unveiled some time later.

  Anyways, we had lost all of our money and nothing much could be done in those days except complaining at the police station and reporting the Embassy. Help was definitely certain days away from us until then only the survival tricks could save us.

  We were scared, our forst reaction was we were terrified.

  For the first time in our lives we felt utterly scared, felt lonely. The reality of the situation hit us almost immediately.

  We were poor, no we were broke, in a foreign land. No friends to turn to, we didn’t even know a word of any Indian language.

  That wasn’t all, we were hungry, and shelterless.

  The next 24 hours went by quickly, with every passing hour our tension increased, hunger pangs reminded us of our pitiable situation.

  The childish, adolescent energy and enthusiasm deserted us almost immediately.

  We were like a ship caught in a tempest, not knowing which shore it would land up in, not knowing if it would even see a shore again.

  We missed England like we never missed before. We wanted nothing more to get back to our country. We would do anything for th
at. In our land, where even if lost, we could seek help and seek direction in our language.

  We all tried our best to arrange money as a group first. That didn’t work.

  Realizing finding work wasn’t easy in foreign land, few sold their little belongings they were left with. Salesmanship is not every ones cup of tea and to meit was even tougher contributed to his shy nature and the mere idea of departing with his precious camera was not as easy as thought.

  Unable to decide, I sat frustrated on a pavement with my camera in my hands adjacent to park lane hotel. People, busses trucks passed by on the busy road.

  On that morning, the madras skies were unusually wet, time was running away fast, as was my patience and courage.

  Next to where I sat was a small tea shop. My eye caught a young girl sipping tea with her family. That was the first time I saw your mother.

  They looked as if they had come for site seeing. She was drinking tea with her family. While sipping her tea her long curly braids fell on her face which she cleared, and as she did it her eyes caught mine, my eyes worried, me sitting there in all my despair. Maybe be she read my mind in that one glance.

  She was a beautiful woman, your mother. She appeared serene and relaxed to me, and looked like someone I could talk to of all the people around. And she somehow appeared to be reading my mind.

  I gathered courage and clicked a picture of the family when she looked towards me again.

  I was not a very confident person by nature back them.

  I still don’t know how I did it. Maybe because there were many things jumbling in my mind that very moment,

  may be if it caught their eye, perhaps I could sell my camera to them, the only worthy possession of mine. Or I could tell them about my predicament, maybe they could help me with shelter? I could develop and send the photos later?

  or perhaps maybe explain the whole situation to them so that they can understand and get some help.

  Or perhaps depending how shy I was nothing could happen at all.

  But one thing did happen she did really read my mind, they had finished their tea by then and before they left, you mother walked upto where I sat, and deliberately left her bag near me.

  Our eyes met again, mine said, ‘are you really doing this’? her’s said ‘I know you need some help, I know you are too scared to ask, so take this, it may relieve you of your miseries’.

  I was stunned, my eyes welled up at this gesture from a God sent stranger. I looked down, and couldn’t even muster a customary thank you.

  When I looked up they were going away.

  I realised, she had gone a long way and about take a turn at the corner. She had definitely seen me taking the pouch and turned satisfyingly.

  I took the money and made some more by selling the anklets and reached back to my home town. But a desire remained hidden deep inside me to meet this saint once again, if life gives me a chance to.

  Saintly is often how Mimmi describes my mom, it felt very different to hear a Caucasian white man who wasn’t known to me just 3 hours back also used the very same words.

  I felt glad, and smiled looking at the portrait again.

  When he got back to England Alex was a changed man.

  In his own words …..

  ‘ the feelings I felt when I got on the flight and when I got to Britain cannot be described.

  I gave my mom and dad the biggest hug I had given them.

  Having exoerienced a time of distress and a miracle of God’s help reached in the most unsusoecting of all circumstances, I seemed to have realised the importance and beauty of Life and love.

  I started my life with a new sense of direction.

  Valuing life, valuing people and valuing money. All this helped me in ways in couldn’t imagine.

  With the money I had , I decided to start my life with a new sense of direction, with renewed vigour. I started off by buying a boat, I myself was the boatman of my boat. So that was the start, ferrying tourists. God was kind, I made some money, got married, started my family.

  With time I saved enough money to buy another boat. Because of the treatment I received from a stranger in foreign land, I consciously hired college kids who had come far away from their place to study and tried finding a part time job to supplement their college fees, as my boatmen.

  Slowly but steadily my boats increased, I hired more boatmen. More foreign kids would come to me looking for work and I gained popularity as the boatman with big boats and a bigger heart.

  Life went on, things happened, most of them pleasant. Some things I remembered some I did not, we moved to a bigger house. Furniture changed, car changed, everything changed except my camera, which I had almost lost. Which I was almost about to sell.

  I kept that camera with me always and clicked an occasional picture with it, some spectacles which captured my heart.

  A friend of mine once saw my pictures and thought they ought to be exhibited. I dindt think much of my snaps but he went ahead and displayed my photos in a small exhibition once, and to my surprise my photos were sold off within a day.

  So another source of income came into the equation. If I was oppulant before this, I was rich now. ‘

  He fell silent after telling his story, which frankly, I was super impressed with. Rags to Riches, well, almost!!

  Then he resumed speaking,

  ‘I always wished to visit that place again, which changed me so much, tought me so much. Meet that stranger, get to know her better’.

  ‘That never happened though’.

  . He sighed before continuing.’ My trip to india was a life changing one. I was filled with zeal with energy, with extreme positivity. I was filled with, for the first time in my life..with intent. I wanted to be someone important in someone else’s life. Make money, help people.

  I wanted to make life changing contributions to people in need just as that angel made to mine.’

  Years later, when my son asked me if angels exist? I said they do, I had seen one.

  I had always heard grandma speak about how my mother influenced some lives, but to me it was like folklore. Having met one such person who’s life she had touched through her kindness, I was witnessing the truth of that statement.

  It was getting late, Alex and Harry rose to depart.

  I know it sounds silly, maybe almost queer how may tear glands worked overtime that day, but when you have lived a life like mine, never seen your mother, only heard about her and when you suddenly meet someone who know’s her, you tend to get a little emotional. Same was the case with me.

  I felt an unknown connect with him. I saw in him, the family I had lost.

  I started internally respecting my guest and wanted him to be with me forever, we had developed this unique bond between us, it was like the instant bond between two like minded people. I had this father figure, if yet all I could imagine what a father could be.

  I don’t know how he sensed it, or maybe he was needing it too, but he held his arms wide open and we hugged. A storm contained for too long broke free in my heart while he stood strong, fatherly.

  For the first time I felt, this country is MY country too. I had ‘my’ people here too. I realized the sillyness of manmade boundaries. No two boundaries can separate two contries, no two skin tones can separate human race. Nations are made, so we know one another and we share, and we love and we learn.

  One more formal thank you, facebook exchangeslater I helped Alex and Harry into the car and helping Jamie with the initial directions to reach the motorway.

  My family stood there, waving goodbye to the father and son in the drizzle. It was an emotionally draining day, I was tired, but I didn’t wish to sleep.

  Such a thing has happened today, two people from east and west, from different generation, one departed long ago and one still alive did reciprocate to a good deed done long back.

  The events unfolded today came has a complete surprise to me. . I could never have imagined them even in my weirdest dream. A
complete rollercoaster ride of past and present. Mimmi is the only person I want to share them with. I am eager to see the pride for me in her eyes. I can imagine, it will be a joy of reuniting and flash back by 30 years in memory lane.

  I can make a single Skype call and inform my Mimmi, but I

  do not want to do this. What is the point in seeing the expression when not in person? Also it will lose its true essence.

  I wish I had wings, I want to be teleported to India immediately, I want to meet my Mimmi and place this invaluable gift on her lap.

  Who can possibly know the importance of this gift better than me?

  My Mimmi is 78 now living in my fishing village. She might be ageing for others but for me she is becoming more and more younger and demanding with each passing year. . She carries that charm and that level of self dignity that nobody dare say no to her words. For her a right is always right and wrong is always wrong there is nothing in-between. I have always seen Mimmi this way and I love her for what she is. My heart is at peace and mind even more peaceful when she is around. All the worries around me vanish away on merely listening to her comforting voice “do not be worried my dear, I am always with you."

  Today is one such day. I miss her incredibly much, particularly since Alex’s visit.

  Christmas holidays are not far away, I have a surprise visit planned in a fortnight. I was all very excited about it until today; now it looks like my patience is being tested. I no longer want to waste even a single second. With all my might, heart and soul I am eagerly waiting for the moment to meet Mimmi and present this invaluable gift ‘photograph of my family’ to her.

  It was the summer of 71. 7 such summers passed since my parents were married without me.  With each passing year the desire and hope for want of a kid increased and increased. That is when my grandfather decided to take them to madras for their treatment. With tickets booked what started as couple of appointments was fruitful after 3 months. With the good news of me on its way there was a joy in atmosphere.

  Mimmi says mother was very happy.