Moving Day

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by Arundhati Basu

There was the day I moved my blog. If I thought that was torment, eyes popping out with the strain of staring at the laptop screen for hours at a go, the mind dissolving into the consistency of mushy peas at the prospect of solving more WordPress dilemmas, there was the day we moved house. That was the gobstopper, so to say. But before I carry on, I have a request. In all this slippery business of moving the blog around, I realise belatedly that I have lost my followers. If you are here, and it is not too much of a trouble, may I ask you to follow me all over again?

Now, to get to the exacting prospect of the move (I don’t know why we do it to ourselves, but we do), the day itself was advanced by more than a week. The numbers of people afflicted by the novel virus were shooting up. The leasing offices of the building we were in had already shut down. It was only a matter of time before our new building’s offices followed suit. The less said about the expense of it all, the better.

If living in the terms of coronavirus took time to get used to, for all of us, as we made little tweaks and adjustments to the rhythm of life, moving did not allow us enough time to figure out how to go about it mindfully. We had masks and gloves, but halfway through the move they came off involuntarily. Moving day had in any case arrived all too early. Before the movers popped in, already we had a large number of boxes sat on the floor of the kitchen. Those I had packed beforehand in a lengthy process that informed me that we have too many spices and condiments.

The movers were a trio, their language foreign to the ears and features slightly Eastern Asian. The eldest, a compact man with vast reserves of energy (let’s call him M1) revealed that they were from a place my besties had proposed as a girls’ birthday trip destination towards the latter part of this year. An ancient city central to the operation of the old Silk Route. Samarkand. “The land of Babur,” offered M1, rhyming the word with Namur. He was not off the mark for Babur, the Mongol conqueror, from Fergana in Uzbekistan was enamoured of neighbouring Samarkand. He described it as a “wonderfully beautified town” in his memoirs, Baburnama, and had succeeded in occupying it twice in his lifetime.

Was this a sign that the girls and I should go ahead with our trip after this entire situation dies down? Should we believe in signs?

Anyway, M1 conducted his own mini-interview of us subsequently, and, in detail.

First, he informed us with great pride that his was not the hope to make the big busy city his home. His is to earn money and fly back to his nest. He noted: “My homeland is beautiful. I have a family and a big house there.” And as an afterthought, he added: “Where we come from, we do not believe in renting.”

Next he quizzed us about the apartment we were moving to. Was it better? Was it bigger? Was the rent more or less than the current one? This continued till Adi had to head to the nearest burger joint to get us all lunch. The inquisition rolled to an end.

A quick lunch break and the process of packing continued. This confirmed to us, if we had not known it already that our earthly possessions are the proverbial albatross around the neck. Most of them acquired through a mix of desire, want, greed… not need. This, after I have downsized to a considerable degree. I foresaw then a future of whittling them further.

At some point in the early evening, the truck-load of the various components that make up our home, finally reached the new building. Here ended the movers’ toil. Here also started our own portion of back-breaking work. The next four days involved furious cleaning. Wipe everything down, find a place for every little thing, cook, decorate. Drop a few things in exhaustion. The first wall clock we bought in Leicester for our first home together. The spoon rest from London. A magnet or two. A husband tired enough to drop the topic. Then, four days of drowning out the news and exchanging it for the sweet sounds of home. Revelling in the cackling of wild geese, the rhythmic thump of clothes in the washing machine, the whistle of the kettle, the sound of the oven dinging – the cake’s done — the pot of tea after. And at the end of it, a couple of happy roosters.

 

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Arundhati Basu

The great affair in my life is to travel. I count myself immensely fortunate that my partner shares this passion. We are a team that likes to spend time planning and plotting out places to go. Destination check, flights check, accommodation check, cheesy grins check. Off we go.

49 thoughts on “Moving Day”

  1. The good news, Dippi-Dotty-Girl is that you have not lost all your followers! Why else would this texts drop into my mailbox? And yes, moving is something you do not wish to undertake more than absolute necessary!
    But now you are nearly finished and most probably you won’t be doing it a new this side of Christmas? Or even much much kater?! 🙂 And since you brought forward the ‘corona question’, to which mountain top did you guys move? 🙂

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    1. Hello Svein, good of you to pop up and let me know about it. I am glad my post updates are still showing up in your mailbox.

      We are so sitting tight here now, for some time. Definitely no move on the cards this side of Christmas or the other. We are still in the same locality thankfully.

      I wish it was a mountain top with a pretty cabin! If only. How are you spending your days in lockdown?

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      1. Well, you know, I’m getting to be what you call ‘an old goat’ 🙂 and having spent years on a tanker ot two on the 7 seas, I really don’t have a problem with the loss of social contact. And besides – I have this blog!
        But – as everyone else – one has to make a choice: ‘Travel’ now or ‘travel’ later!
        So – I’m keeping cool, taking one day a a time! I wish perhaps the younger generation would make a similar choice – having small kids and all – but living the ‘high life’ seems more important? And unfortunately for all: I don’t think the ‘Corona’ will go away during 2020, possibly not even in 2021/22!
        (But, – there is a good chance that I will! 🙂 )

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      2. Let’s hope you will not, Svein, go anywhere that is.

        I hear you. I remember the part of your adventures that you shared with me. The blog is the best bet on social contact as it turns out in the present moment. But I always loved the kind of interactions the blog offers, with like-minded people. You can choose your tribe.

        Frankly, I am loving this state of being sequestered with my husband in the comforts of home. There is nothing to complain about. However I do feel for all those people who are out there facing the desperation of life as it is right now and I wish I could be of some help. Travel seems like a distant dream, Svein. One lives in hope. You have a good day and take care of yourself.

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  3. What a lovely read. I love the image of the plant and the peony. You are a super woman to have moved the blog and moved homes. I am so scared of moving my blog 🤔Have to chat with you and get some motivation. Good luck with everything. Miss you both.

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    1. Hi didi, thanks for swinging by. 🙂 Superwoman?! Gosh. My inner clumsy self is chuffed at the compliment. Don’t move your blog if you can help it. But if you want to take your mind off Lady Corona, I won’t discourage you.

      Thank you for the lovely comment and we miss you all too. Soon we shall see each other. You know how time flies. xx

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  4. I’m here! But you knew that 😉. Gosh. Moving. So stressful but so worthwhile when you can cozy down and nest together and let’s face it …. noes a very good time to be partaking if those delights. Go to Samarkand. It’s written in your tea leaves, take it from me … I know stuff, I have special powers 🔮 🍵 💫 xxx

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    1. I like this crystal ball gazer and her advice for the future. Samarkand shall see me once we are freed of our chains, milady. Which makes me think – can you imagine what people will do when they are unleashed finally?!! xxx

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      1. We have speculated what it will be like when the drawbridges are raised …. we fluctuate between comedy and horror but not a smidge of serenity seems likely! Some years ago, I met a delightful couple from Samarkand at a conference I was doing the shimmy and schmooze at fir my husband. At the end of the event they present me with a fridge magnet from Uzbekistan and insisted I will visit one day. I hope so but meantime go for me as well as you as soon as it is possible and have the whalest of whales of a time 🐳 🇺🇿 💫 xxx

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      2. I picture the scene of your Samarkand connection, and well, it makes me smile. In a video chat with the girls, we arrived at the conclusion that our 40th birthday plans are “slightly” jinxed. By the unseen entity. Ours is to give in gracefully for now. But when I do go, the whalest of whale times it shall be lady (how do you get hold of these icons on the laptop? I cannot help being a dino at the best of times). xxx

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      3. 40! You look about 25!!! I use my iPad or phone when I want to use the little pictures. I don’t think I can do it on the Mac. Conversely, I can add all the accents and circumflexes and all the other French bells and whistles on the Mac and not on the iPad or phone …. you win some, you lose some!! Xxx

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      4. I am quite at the doorstep of 40. I have time till the end of the year to get used to the transition. Surprisingly, not het up about it as I thought I would be.

        I do prefer the Macbook to the phone when it comes to reading and typing out my long missives, so I think I will have to swallow this trade-off. Happy Easter Monday! Was it a weekend of scarfing down choco bunnies and eggs? xx

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      5. Ha! I hit 60 later this year …. I remember 40 and thinking is this a milestone and in many ways it was – a really good one. I loved my 30s and I loved my 40s and I have loved my 50s. I’m pretty sure you are cut from the same cloth and it will be a wonderful time for you. Easter was a chocolate wash out. We went to the store and there was literally not an egg, not a bunny not even a chocolate sponge-bob or Spider-Man to be had. Very disappointing. However, I guess the children all had a feast and I’m sure I should be magnanimous enough to allow them that …. really, I should. Xx

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      6. Non, for chocolate there shall be no exemptions. I pass you cupcakes to cheer you up from the sadness of losing out on such booty. Children are not exempt from it just because they are small and cute hey.

        I hear you. The completion of every milestone is such a rapid affair. Suddenly you realise a decade is gone. Thank you! And here’s to us. *it being Friday I shall raise my red (later on in the evening, lest you think there she goes already and it’s just gone 11!)

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      7. Haha! My cousin in Cornwall has started having weekly Zoom meets for several family members in England and Belgium. And us here. He asked me last week why I had no drink since he has called it a virtual pub meet. I pointed out that it was barely 11 a.m and that really there are standards even in these trying times!

        Children should learn to share, is what I feel. I’ll raise my glass to you this evening too. Chin chin! 🍷

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      8. I am getting read to unleash a bottle of red — and a horror movie to spice things up (to Adi’s dismay).

        I am not definitely not a Zoom person. They spell doom for me. Everybody yakking at the same time…
        Your Cornish cuz is daring I say! Perhaps he is 25. Takes me back to sleepless nights melting into mornings seamlessly, with enough alcohol flowing through me veins to replace blood.

        Before I get going, to our health and happiness! 🍷

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      9. Santé bonheur ma belle amie! I have to confess that I would be with Adi on the horror. Maybe for different reasons …. I am the ultimate audience and believe what I am seeing is real. Not a happy marriage with horror, sadly. My cousin is 73 this year and should know better! Funnily enough my youngest daughter who WILL be 25 next month finds Zoom overwhelming. 25 was such fun but every year since has provided it’s own madness and mayhem just probably not fuelled with quite so much alcohol 😉 xx

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      10. I believe it is real. Really. To the effect that Adi has known a tap on his shoulder in the middle of the night, to accompany yours truly and stand guard outside the loo. (I think he is to blame though. He woke me one dawn in a possibly haunted cottage in Wales so that he could go to the loo which was on the other end of the cottage, safe in the knowledge that his wife knew where he was).

        Twenty five. How far ago was that? I was a different person then. I hope your daughter has a wonderful 25th birthday coming up, regardless of the odd situation of our collective lives. But it is a momentous year, for more reasons than one.

        I cannot complain about the lack of those alcohol-fuelled days. As you point out, life has its reserve of adventures to toss our way. Look at how it bagged the prize for the most mental one ever. xx

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      11. That made me laugh! No wonder Adi is less than keen but to be fair I think he was the instigator of this state of affairs with his sissy moment in Wales!

        We are all conspiring to make my girly’s birthday memorable since it will be spent on her own in lock down.

        This year certainly has taken the Oscar for most unexpected and bonkers of all time. Let’s hope it’s never challenged for that crown 😉 xx

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      12. Adi is brave. Consider this. When it is horror movie night, he sits with a cushion in front of his face. In the said cottage in Wales, he went to bed, ready to flee at a moment’s notice. Which meant he was attired so, and importantly, the car keys were jammed into the pocket of his jeans.

        It is sucky to be stuck inside, especially on your birthday. But I firmly believe in the power of conspiracies hatched to cheer up a darling daughter.

        As for the last, I doubt it shall ever be challenged. One can hope it never is again! Have a lovely week. xx

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  5. Moving in the time of coronavirus sounds terribly stressful, but I enjoyed your amusing account. I think you should take your encounter with M1 as a positive sign to keep with plans once this is behind us. Keep safe Dippy!

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    1. Hello Caroline, thank you! I have been commenting on your posts but I think they are vanishing. :-/

      I shall keep it in mind. Signs, signs everywhere. When it comes to travelling, they must mean something. 🙂 Trust you two are being safe too. xx

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      1. It’s odd; today I received a notification that you had commented on my post but there was nothing there. Drives you crazy these glitches in technology! I also used to get email notifications for your new posts but don’t anymore, though I see your posts in my reader. Aaaah, I just pressed the follow button…maybe that will solve these problems. Anyway, all of this is relatively insignificant. Enjoy your long weekend as much as you can and take care of yourselves. So sad the news we are reading from NYC.

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      2. I have noticed it the last few times – about four or five – that I left a comment. Well, the Wp universe is giving me the cold shoulder perhaps? Thanks for following me again. In the bigger scheme of things, it is all rather insignificant, I agree. The news is horrid. And I wonder how the world will change after this.

        On a different note, Happy Easter, Caroline! 🙂

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  6. What a stressful time for you to be moving! Sounds like everything went well. I believe that we are still following your posts because I see them in our feed. Have a safe Easter and say Hi to the Easter Bunny for me – Neek

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    1. Hello Travelling Danny, how are you? I visited your blog a couple of weeks ago and commented, but I believe I am being deposited in the spam folder of bloggers nowadays! Gah.

      Anyway, welcome back and am happy to hear you are following me again. 🙂 Cheers!

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      1. That’s such a shame. Do you happen to remember which post it was on?

        I am doing well actually. Currently not travelling (obviously) but nonetheless keeping myself busy. Finally back to writing too and more persistent.

        What about you? Finally settled in at your new place?

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      2. My memory is a sieve. :-/

        Good to hear that you are gathering steam before you hit the road next. I am sure the experiences you have gathered are waiting to be let out onto the blog.

        I am okay. No better time to have moved in to a new place, in a way. Enough time to appreciate home. 🙂

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    1. Indeed, you are there with the words. It means “do come in” — uttered when you open the door and welcome visitors in. 🙂
      We love our new home, never mind the occasional stamping of elephants overhead.

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      1. One more phrase to my meager Hindi dictionary. Dhanyavad for the confirmation.
        Elephants upstairs? Hmmm. Worse than bats in the belfry, right? Or can you pretend it’s my Lord Ganesha living upstairs? 😉

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      3. My thoughts go to you. One of the main joys we’ve had of living in a house (or a succession) in the past 25 years, is that no matter how obnoxious some neighbours can be, no-one walks or runs on our heads…
        Au revoir.

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