“Your mother was on seventh heaven on that day. The imagination of having you in her arms brought a sparkle in her eyes. A constant smile on her face left a dimple on her cheek. Her long wait was finally over. "
I loved the way Mimmi presented them to me. These incidents, in their finite details. After few days I felt I am a part of them.
Mimmi took a short breath in between and continued
"It was her idea to take a picture at the famous madras studio ... So shy was she, she kept whispering in my ears the whole day.”
Mimmi looked at me and said
"She was scared!!! Your mother!!! "
I had asked” why Mimmi??”
Mimmi said tickling my tummy making me asleep
"That we might forget and return home without taking a snap ".
Then we both laughed.
It was then the treasured photo was taken, and it made its eminent way in our living room. Exactly the same era my guest had clicked his own copy.
My cell rang, it is my sister. She says Mimmi is serious, had an attack, she is admitted in hospital. I am shocked my hands have gone numb I could not speak for a second.
In less than 4 hours we were in Heathrow rushing from security check to terminal 5. Innumerable lifts, long distances to walk and a train trip to the boarding room. By the time we reached the boarding room my wife was short of breath and sweating profusely. I literally ran halfway carrying my daughter on my shoulders and pushing the pram with other hand. We were the last passengers to board the flight. The air hostess was kind enough to get us some water. Place our handbags in the shutter. I put the frame at the bottom of my seat. British Airways took off to Chennai.
A long ten hours by plane then three more hours drive by bus to my home.
orrrrr to the hospital ???
We boarded the flight, but it is different, it was not like how we planned it out to be. I seem lost.
My wife and my little daughter try breaking me into small talk, but my monosyllabic replies hardly help them carry forward the conversation. I feel bad about snubbing them but it isn’t something I can help. My mind is occupied, it is busy pointing out my recklessness.
Last time I met mimmi was when she was here almost 25 months ago. She was 78! What was I thinking not meeting her for so long?
The distance and the time are killing me. The very fact that, I am not with my Mimmi now, when she needs me the most, is grieving me.
Why am I not with her?? Why did I leave her?? At least why did I not leave to meet her the moment Alex gave my mother’s photo ??
Oh god! In which state will my Mimmi be!! Is she lying on the bed now ?? Is she struggling to breath?? Does she need me beside her?? Is she calling me her usual way?
My heart wanted to listen to her sweet voice once again but it feared it may not be so. My mind was preparing me for a difficult situation that my heart retaliated to accept it.
My sister sounded grieved and worried on phone, she was crying and kept repeating me to leave atonce. She wanted me to be there with her. She needed me there. I have to be the support, the big brother she needs.
In this world where so much happens in the blink of an eye, i had taken some huge risks. Such thoughts started clouding my head as if slipped into my past, just as my little daughter slipped into her sleep in my lap, and her mother on my shoulder.
November 1977
I still remember the stormy night, what seemed as a windy day at first slowly started changing as the noon approached. The temperature kept falling which is very unusual for this place and then it suddenly became cloudy and it started raining by dusk. And with the rain came the whistling sound of the wind and slowly as the night approached speed of the wind increased further and further.
I still remember the radio broadcast since morning alerting all fishermen to stay away from sea. Flash news predicting winds to be blowing at 40 to 50 miles per hour. There were heavy cautions being issued everywhere about a great storm and the messages for the people on coastline to evict as soon as possible and leave to highlands.
Generally winds and storms are common in this area but this one was nothing like before. This was a typhoon. Later we came to know the speed of wind was 125 miles per hour. It had washed out every belongings of our and with it went the only photo my Mimmi had of her dear lost ones.
It might have been two nights or perhaps three nights after the storm had passed. People were still not out of the shock at the number of causalities, the life stock losses, the washed away houses. The houses which once provided them with shelter. Now just heaps of muddy water.
We were back from the village heads house to see a roofless house of ours and the fencing wall broken halfway and many cracks on the walls. Broken walls with water till the knee level. Left over vessels clothes iron trunks cots were floating in it.
I was clinging on to Mimmi holding her tightly.
Mimmi had tied me on to her stomach with a tight piece of cloth keeping me safe from the dirty water. We were happy as we were only two of us in the family but news started pouring in of many life losses from the village.
I remember Mimmi’s face on that day. A still face with tears falling of her cheek. There was no way anybody could stop them. She let go off all the tears on that day.
After that my Mimmi was tougher than ever. She stood strong for herself, me and for the neighbours around us. We waited a week at the village school, for the water to be absorbed in the land or to drain off but she would go every day until then to save what was left off.
but a broken home and dead cattle (we had two buffaloes) weren’t the only things that resulted from the storm.
One morning we found a little baby crying next to our makeshift home. No one around her to take care of her.
Mimmi picked the crying infant up and fed her some milk and put her to sleep. For 2 days no one came to pick the girl inspite of our announcements.
They kept recovering innumerable bodies from the canals of our coastal town.
Canals which were meant to irrigate our fields, only braought forward more and more dead bodies, stinking, dreadful ugly dead bodies.
Some more lifeless bodies were to be found electrocuted under fallen electric poles.
Majority of the village sang the mourning song.
So many deaths, plus the fact that no one came forward to claim the girl.
That is when mimmi adopted her and came to have a little sister. I was happy, I got to be her big brother ever since.
There were about 60 families living at the school. We lived very friendly and helpful and sharing food and clothes and radio news. There were huge discussions among the elderly about the aftermath of storm, how big this storm was, how lucky we were to be saved to be alive.
When we returned home with the adopted baby, my sister, we slowly started to rearrange our house and tried hard to get our life back to normal.
Sometimes I would catch Mimmi off guard, looking in some direction aimlessly, quietly crying. This would make me really sad. The 7 year old me would fight tears and try talking to Mimmi.
My little mind would try to think why she mught be crying.
‘don’t cry Mimm’ I would say. ‘when I grow up I will make you a very strong house, made of bricks, like the village head has’ ‘it’ll be strong even in storms, so please don’t cry’.
I would talk to cheer her up, fighting my own tears, but failing in both my attempts. Cheering her up and fighting my tears.
We had 2 buffaloes, both died in the storm. I thought maybe shes crying for the buffaloes. ‘don’t cry mimmi, when I grow up, I will buy you lots of buffaloes, I will buy 10,00,000 buffaloes.’
I was in grade 2 and couldn’t count that far, but I had recently learnt in school that it was a huge number.
What I later came to realise was that mimmi cried neither for the house, not the buffaloes. She had cried because the photo of Mimmi, grandpa, my father and my mother, which hung in our living room, framed in the glass’ was now
destroyed. Glass broken, photo unrecognizable.
Mimmi would look at it and sob.
I made a third quick resolution to cheer her up.
When I build that strong house, I will fill it with your photos I said, which made her cry more.
Unable to cheer, I would stand there crying, and my baby sister would start crying in her cradle taking mimmi’s attention towards herself.
I loved her for this. Everytime Mimmi would sob, she would cry loud and Mimmi would get busy with handling her.
In fact, my little sister’s entry meant a new playing companion for me. It filled the house with her crying and baby laughters. I so loved her. School was closed for almost 4 months and I spent my days playing with her.
I slowly forgot all about the cyclone and quickly found happiness in Fathima, Mimmi and my home.
__
As I grew, Mimmi told me she didn’t need the buffaloes, she had busied herself with her school, teaching etc.
I did build her the big house I promised, The only dream I didn’t know how to fulfil was of filling the new house with bright cheerful photos of grand ma. But I wasn’t at fault here.
Everytime I brought up the topic of clicking a picture, my otherwise strong mimmi’s expression would change. She would look weaker. She’d feel sad enough to not talk for over an hour atlease. So I would avoid the topic myself.
I didn’t know what to do about the photo of mom which she’d lost to the storm.
My wife woke me up from my trip down the memory lane when the flight reached Chennai.
I’m feeling weak, like someone is draining away my body fluids. My mind isn’t in my control, as is always the case when you are utterly tensed.
I am beginning to fear the worst. Dreadful thoughts are crowding my mind. Each thought more dreadful than the previous one.
I imagine mimmi’s still body kept on the cot, laying still, dead.
People coming to respects, to the old lady teacher of the primary school.
I try to shut down all my negative thoughts.
My wife gently tapped on my shoulder to wake me from the nightmare I was having in the day, in tha taxi.
My wife told me softly that we’d reached our home. I jumped from my stupor and looked around in complete delusion. Half expecting to see a funeral being carried, and half expecting to see my sister running upto me, tears rolling down her cheeks. I saw neither of those dreadful sights.
I didn’t see a funeral, but it didn’t relieve me, the village seemed unusually quite.
Whats wrong? I thought. There was no one in front of my house, no crowd. Is everything over? I thought, did they take the body off?
I was praying to Almighty God that he gives me a chance to just share with Mimmi what she had lost to the storm, what she missed all her life.
Her daughter’s face captured in a photo.
The house arrived, the front gate was open there was silence in the veranda my heart stopped beating for a second. Ayra ran inside leaving my wife’s hand there were shrieks of happiness i could here my sisters voice i ran inside my sister ran towards us bubbling holding ayra.
I crossed the room into the backyard. I saw my Mimmi sitting weak on the cot below the palm tree. I ran and hugged my Mimmi rested my head on her lap and could not move nor speak for some time nor could i stop the tears falling off my cheeks. i heard the same voice " Why do you cry? You have come to Mimmi, now stop crying. It will all be alright”
Exactly the same words as the cyclone in 1977, same reassurance.
But never before had her words meant more to me, never had they sounded more apt.
Her relaxed reassurance almost sounded like a mockery of my sceptical mindset, my fears, my lack of faith.
I looked up to her old face. I was satisfied seeing her, but she was lot more weaker, weaker like never before but I thanked God to show me this moment, a moment where i wanted my Mimmi the most and i got her back.
As I sat there looking at her, my little sister came and hugged me from behind.
I chatted her 2 kids up who were just back from school.
It was very refreshing and relieving to see my Mimmi lying down and talking to Ayra it was as if a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders.
But there was still the gift to be given out. I thought the time was right, called out to Mimmi.
I said " Mimmi i have a surprise for you" and waited for some time. I was longing for this moment for more than a fortnight ,Mimmi looked at me little surprised and smiling at the same time as if saying, give away the surprise please.
Unpacking the big frame, smiling, I said.. ‘Mimmi, I said, close your eyes” !!!
Atleast give me a hint, what is it about? Mimmi said protesting.. still not closing her eyes.
I said " Mimmi I am giving you something so precious, you can never forget this moment”.” I am giving you our lost world" there was a pride in my words Mimmi was still smiling but was little surprised this time. " Tell me bachchey, don’t make poor Mimmi wait"
i turned the frame towards her and gave the frame in her hands.
Mimmi was shocked she never expected it coming. The first reaction was she held the frame to her chest saying " my darling daughter" and cried loudly, sometimes pressing it close to her and some times holding the frame at a distance and seeing it.
It was as if she found her lost daughter, it was like a reunion. Like her daughter was alive all these days and now came to see her mother.
It was an overwhelming moment for all of us to see.
In the middle of all of us looking at her, she continued hugging, kissing and crying to the picture frame, as if there was no one around but her, and the lost family caught in that frame.
Having spent enough time with it she looked at me as if asking how? From where did I get this?? She hugged me smiling and kissed on my forehead.
She looked at me with pride, I was yearning for that look, but her look was more than just the look of pride.
She saw me with thankfulness, and a sense of peace.
Mimmi thanking me? I absolutely never ever saw that coming. I couldn’t believe how much of a difference that phone call a fortnight ago from Alex had made.
Alex probably was unaware how many lives he’d touched by just choosing to honour the woman who helped instead of forgetting about that incident and moving on.
I was overwhelmed with many an emotion.
I thanked God, for giving me this life. For helping me understand it when I was too busy not understanding it.
I thanked Mimmi, Mom, Alex, My wife, sister, daughter, for everyone who was ever a part of my life, good or bad. For being a part of my life. I now am wise enough to know there is ‘bad’, these lives of ours are mysteriously perfect.
But only when we are open enough to realize this divine perfection.
July 13 2013, London
It is 2013 now, Mimmi is 85 and still as active as ever at heart, although her movements have slowed down. Her school is gaining reputation as a top school for kids in that area.
When I got back home from that visit, I had plenty of food for thought.
Lots of things to reflect on. Sometimes we are so busy living our lives that we don’t understand it.
Sometimes we undersestimate the beauty of life by being too busy running through it.
It is amazing how we have made it a habit to fall into routine.
Life, is a beautiful picture we paint. Each color of it we have the freedom to choose, each stroke of it, we have the freedom to make.
While we paint, we do not realise what our life’s picture is becoming because we are too close to the canvas.
We do not reflect enough on our life. We do not step backand observe what it is becoming.
Had we had the time, we would have seen what a master piece each of our lives is.
If we do take time to observe, we will notice that it is painted not only by us, but also by the people we live with. Each person happy with us adds a color, e
ach person we have hurt, or did not care for adds another color.
No 2 colors are the same.
It is painted not only by us, but by the people whose lives we touch.
But we are ignorant of all this.
We do not look, and when we ourselves refuse to stop and look, God sends us a surprise.
He sends a surprise in the form of a person, or a situation, or a memory, or anything appropriate for us at that time.
No one can when that time arrives, it will take you by surprise when you least expect it.
This ‘surprise’ ,akes you aware of the perfection of it all.
It makes you learn, it makes you love better, live better.
Don’t ever get too caught up to not realize these surprises which come your way. Keep your eyes open for them. You never know when that surprise comes.
For it arrives when you are least expecting it.
I woke up lazily one Saturday morning and an angel called Alex called me and changed my life forever.
Alex was lost and desperate and hopeless on a main road in Madras & my mom was his angel who changed his life for the better, giving him perspective.
I thank you if you have read this far, if you like what you read, please take a minute off and think about all the people in your life, whom you love.
Spare a minute for them and let them know how glad you are to have them.
Do contemplate on life, love and generosity
Generosity is not in giving me that which I need more than you do, but it is in giving me that which you need more than I do.
Khalil Gibran
“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
“Moments. This is one. This right here, right now, is definitely a moment.”
Peace!
END
Thank you for taking the time to read our book. Please take a moment to leave a comment at the site from which you downloaded it. This book is free; feedback is the only payment we request! If you feel a great need to spend your money, please consider making a donation to your local charity. It would be greatly appreciated by those in need.
'Alex Hamilton's phone call changed my life' Page 3
