The Art and Craft of Moving – My Step-by-Step Approach to Relocation – Part III

Hey There !

I’m delighted to welcome you back! Part III marks the end of this mini-series on the nuances of moving houses.

In case you’re here by mistake, I’d suggest learning from it, by clicking the links below:

Part I – The Art and Craft of Moving – My Step-by-Step Approach to Relocation – Part I

Part II – The Art and Craft of Moving – My Step-by-Step Approach to Relocation – Part II

So here we go, the final chapter. Enjoy

Part III – The Final Act

EPISODE 8: Moving out.

Our boxed-up life is ready to make the move.

Freight trucks, reminiscent of massive Transformers, gradually make their way to our condo. I can visualize Optimus Prime almost transform into its robotic form, fist-bumping the boys on the balcony!

A pair of them line up on the side alley, and from behind these emerge the indefatigable Movers, ready to pick up right from where they left off.

Scene 1.1: The Count.

The first ‘organized’ move of my life maxed out at 10 cartons. Since then, there hasn’t been a significant addition, maybe ‘zero’!(or so I thought!). Unbelievable right? Considering the non-stop rambling the readers have been exposed to so far!

A ‘zero’ was added, indeed, but to the right side of the ten. These 4 by 4 menaces have zeroed in on me and tripled in quantity! Just like those unwanted guests at a wedding party, these squares & rectangles have crashed. We have made a century with 100+ cartons !

However, that ‘excess baggage’ managed to york us out, in time, preventing a double tonne.

Scene 1.2: Into the truck.

While we stand admiring our score, a list is thrust into our hands, signaling the start of the loading countdown. With each stroke ☑of the pen, one room after another disappears into the elevator, coming to rest in the truck, only to re-emerge a month later. Watching the Movers handle these boxes is like watching masters at a game of ‘Tetris’!

The nimble rotation, the brisk drop, and the cautious placement of each of these cartons are gratifying. The gamer in you suddenly wakes up to notice a spot that stands vacant and tries to point it out to the master, but the escalating speed of the incoming objects prevents any further action. Alas, that void will remain – an eyesore to the perfectly matched rows and columns!

With the closure of the heavy-metal doors, this captivating real-life version of Tetris comes to an end. Twin Optimus Primes exit through the main gate, leaving you to deal with a plethora of emotions.

“Mom, why do they call it ‘cargo’ when it is hauled on a ship and ‘shipment’ when it is hauled on a truck?”, questions the little one, breaking up the emotional brawl you find yourself in the midst of.

I know they have had their fair share of criticism, but I am grateful for the presence of Mr. Google and his AI-enhanced nemesis Mr. ChatGPT – the substitute tutors to our household. Hence, I direct the boy to seek answers from the other mother – Ms. Technology, while I rush to more pressing matters.

Back inside, as I witness the four walls shed of their belongings, I’m humbled by the surrounding emptiness. It reveals space that I thought never existed! Admiring this vastness, I make a mental note to go minimalistic in our new home. Hopefully, with the boys entering their teens soon, I will be able to. Amen!

EPISODE 9: The momentary gypsy.

The last days of transition are spent wandering from one house to another: from friends to relatives and back to friends. Early morning flights, groggy and complaining kids add unwanted background music to this gypsy theme.

Flashing farewell messages on the phone are laden with sentiments as we settle into seats 14A, B, C and D. However, the only emotional ordeal I face, as I buckle my seat belt and broker an argument between Boy 1 and Boy 2, is the anxiety that awaits me during the ‘unboxing’ phase!

EPISODE 10: The Layout.

It’s exhilarating to step into your future home. A sudden rush of blood flows into those creative veins of yours. The image of vacant corners and clean and empty walls awakens the slumbering interior designer in you, who enthusiastically begins working on the layout.

The building manager softly murmurs something about ‘Feng Shui’ and ‘Vastu’ alignment. The one with a carefree migrating nature had never really bothered to incorporate any of these harmonizing forces into any of her previous abodes. It’s all about to change. Every room and every single object will be positively infused. This time, I’ll ensure that even the cutlery wakes up to a sun salutation!

Energized by the thought of this new life force, I set about visiting local design shops and spending hours clicking on online kins of these. New elements are shortlisted and added to the motley assortment of our existing belongings. The ‘minimalistic’ approach has been promptly shown the exit door!

EPISODE 11: Moving In.

Scene 1.1: FBI !

OPEN THE DOOR!

Abruptly, I wake up from my deep slumber to the repetitive buzz of the doorbell. It isn’t the FBI knocking at the door, but professionals from an equally daunting line of work – “The Movers” are back in town!

While the lot from the first leg gave an impression of the happy-go-lucky Minions, these appear otherwise. They seem to belong to an elite task force, out fresh from a session on psychological torture. Their current mission: to instil fear in the psyche of the box-owners.

The slow and deft manoeuvring of the truck backing up on the driveway, the measured lowering of the shutters to reveal more men, and the unhurried pace at which each box is handled and laid out in front of you, are all meant to accelerate your heartbeat, adding to your anxiety!

Pretty soon, your previous home – the living room, kitchen, bedroom, and the rest – is out in the parkway. They seem to be throwing one accusatory look after another at you for deserting and leaving them at the mercy of the lapping waves, while you flew in the comfort of the wind and clouds!

As you look away, sheepishly, the leader of the pack starts marking out the chambers – à la crime scene –

, and so on

My mind wanders off to that one board game that my boys do play – ‘Cluedo – The Classic Detective Game!‘

Box by box, the agents are directed to recreate a crime scene as the lead detective sifts his way through the evidence and directs all his questions to me – and only me:

“Which room?” (replacing the Who), “Where”, and the occasional “How?” – all followed by the polite “Madam”, the lady of the house, or, as I felt at that moment, the prime suspect!

My memory is tested time and again (maybe my reading skills too, since the boxes are all labeled!). Only when I clear this mnemonic assessment does he let me go!

Scene 1.2: The Restoration.

It’s time to listen to the latest version of the familiar orchestra (with minor changes) – “Drop, Drag, Rip, and Snap”.

I find myself going from being the prime accused to becoming a part of this elite squad. Life hasn’t promoted me (professionally or personally) as fast as they have. For reasons beyond my understanding, they think of me as some kind of superhuman, possessing powers of omnipresence, being able to be present in all the rooms at the same time.

From the dreaded ‘MOM’ to the equally terrifying ‘MADAM’, the ‘M’ word has done womankind great injustice. These monikers on repeat mode are a sure way to drive any woman (super or your plain old Jane) towards delirium. Thrust into this new role, unwillingly might I add, I try to guide these men to the best of my earthly abilities. It is to be recalled that all this is to be managed while ensuring that each placement is ‘Zen-optimized’. However, after about a dozen trips in ‘flash-mode’, my commitment to this energy-enhanced change is tested.

‘What matters in the end is your inner Zen and the rest will eventually follow suit!’ – reinforcing this long-held philosophy, I tender my resignation and resign to the comfort of the chair, instructing the team to follow their instincts (and the labels for once!).

Scene 1.3: The collateral damage – you save some, you lose some.

I’ve never been a fan of heavy metal, musically and otherwise, and so wasn’t particularly looking forward to the interplay of drilling machines and hammers in my house. However, I now find myself right in the thick of things. When a few of the drills miss a note or two, I rush to intervene, just in time to salvage a few items from being permanently damaged and destroyed. But, unable to teleport myself fast enough, I couldn’t save some.

Every move comes with a casualty, and this time, it was the ill-fated turn of the wardrobe – one of those choicest selections of my better half. It came with countless nuts and bolts of peculiar shapes and sizes that would put any master builder to the test!

Hence, I wasn’t the least bit surprised when one of the nuts broke, rendering the entire unit useless. My husband desperately trying to save one of his prized possessions, rushes to the local hardware stores, but all in vain. When it’s time, it’s time! 

The wardrobe takes its last breath and is buried in the storage room, where the last rites are held with what seems like millions of nuts and bolts in attendance.

The pain from this loss, though, was short-lived. Thanks to the insurance claim, we fully recovered from this trauma.

Scene 1.4: It’s your problem now.

That’s as far as professional help will take you. The agents of transportation exit the house with the same stealth with which they had entered it, leaving you alone with your thoughts (and your boxes).

Moments like these take you back to those bachelorette days – backpack on her shoulders, headphones on her ears, and the car keys swinging around her fingers. She gives you an almost apologetic smile, but before she can linger to mock you further, you brush her aside and away from your mind.

Dwelling on the past will not help solve my present dwelling situation. Taking a deep breath, I walk right past this mirage and open the floodgates to the myhem that lies within those bricked walls.

EPISODE 12: Setting up.

Every door of my house is now a small gateway leading to clusters of items. Each one, impatiently waiting to hear the sound of your footsteps and eager to be held upon on your arrival. In this moment of uncertainty, they seek my guidance and direction – the only one who can lead them to the right path and their final destination.

One look at them, and this time my mind drifts to the make-believe world of Disney motion pictures – a magical world where, at the stroke of midnight, inanimate objects spring to life, venturing out of their respective cabinets for a night of music and merriment. Though this time, they’ll have to find their way back into them! As long as they promise to do so, they can partake in as much carousing as they desire. In fact, I’ll be more than eager to join in the fun!

Much to my usual dismay, life ain’t a Disney picture, and I ain’t a princess! Shaking myself, I wake up from this reverie. No magical stroke or wand will come to the rescue of this damsel in distress. It’s up to me to provide direction to these tiny beings (as if my hands weren’t already full with life-sized versions of my very own!).

Hence, in an un-Cinderella demeanour, I roll up my sleeves, pull up my personalized minions (complaining and whining for being dragged into this recurrent motion picture), and together we submit to the task of ‘settling down’.

EPILOGUE

Four days (of packing and unpacking) and twelve episodes (of scripting these days) later, we are back to civilization. Every object (living and non-living) has found its rightful place!

Yup, the lamp survived! The disassembled wardrobe took the place of the broken shoe rack. Legos are back to being the menaces they usually are, and the balcony umbrella awaits new summer parties.

While disposing of the remaining clutter, I store remnants of a few boxes engraved with the family name and new address (all in the name of Memories).

As the last bits of paper and tape exit the house, a fresh breeze enters, ushering in the next phase of life. I hear its rhythmic whisper!

A warm and welcoming square meter where fresh and vivid memories will be birthed,
New friendships will be welcomed and old ones preserved.

One where fights are broken off and wounds heal,
Where panes get cracked and are surreptitiously sealed.

A place where occasions (big or small) are celebrated, and reunions held,
Where dinner-table discussions flourish and arguments swell.

To this place, we are momentarily confined, till that dreaded ringtone chimes.
And delivers the breaking news that it’s time!

Till that point, our thoughts will freely roam,
In this place, that we, for the next few years, call our home.

(Honestly, I saw the rhyme coming mid-way through Part II! )

Thanks for sticking around till the last chapter of this pretty long rambling session. I’m in awe of your patience!

For those of you who are about to embark on similar adventures or find yourselves in the midst of it – I feel your pain! – and wish you ‘Happy shifting!’.

For those who are done with it – I am equally thrilled! – and wish you “Cartons full of Happiness!”

May your boxes find their perfect fit!

Until the next move

Ciao!