A Big Welcome to Pickfords

pickford moverWe got an appointment with Pickfords movers, for the coming Friday. That a professional mover is moving our things to Cape Town takes lots of stress away.  I already told about our movement from Grahamstown to Cape Town. I call them professional, not out of my personal experience, but of friends’, and of the company’s dealings so far; prompt emails and telephone calls, talking business transparently and considering clients convenience in fixing appointment dates, and so on. So on Friday, they arrive home, pack our things, move them, and deliver at our new home, in a week.

In any kind of moving, packing is very stressful. I’m talking about the packing sessions, when traveling home with just thirty kilos per person. Then our daughters and me formed the Pickfords packing team. Every one of us gave a shot at it. We normally traveled home during school holidays. When children were small, they were very excited about going home meeting with the most loving ones and equally stressed about meeting with the not so loving ones. We would sit in one room; things purchased gathered around boxes, they wrapping them in their old dresses and my saris and stuffing into boxes.

Weight was one villain. Once, it embarrassed us, at the check in counter, we had to repack our boxes, for weight adjustments. (Our bathroom balance was cheating on us). There were other villains too creating havoc in my mind. Learn from failures was the prompt we teachers always filled the learners’ head with. So, me too had to take the same doze. I had to learn a lot from previous failures. Each time before a trip, I made elaborate census of family members and relatives at home making sure new additions in two years gap since our last visit were not left out and I made sure the presents bought were apt and appropriate to everybody’s class status and distance/closeness and that there was no shortage but only excesses, in case a long lost relative arrived unannounced. When I shopped I referred to old dairies where ‘friendly suggestions’ were scribbled. They were raised in family talk shows after gift presentation sessions.. ‘’So and so does not like green, this is a bit out of fashion, and the stuff of that sari is ….’’ When children were small they didn’t understand family politics and I let them concentrate on wrapping, laughing, telling stories, listening to music and worry about plane meals, horrible, according to them.

My husband was always stressed with professional matters, and so he was more stressed about having less time to work out personal stuff. But he would come when the whole packing was over, and what was left was to secure the boxes with ropes. I would then retreat with a slight relief, to hear him asking, ’’where is the rope?’’ I would go to him and say, ‘’here it’s.’’ It was kept closer to the boxes. Then he would say, I can’t do it alone, somebody help me!

The biggest help came when he asked, ‘did you take that, and did you take this?’’ That’s when we almost reached the airport.’’

Well things have improved a little bit now.

Even then, I’m not sure moving stuffs from an entire house can be managed that easily. So, Pickfords, how much I love to welcome your team to our home on Friday!

This is a post written for Write Tribe Pro-blogger Challenge

Saying goodbye to the place we lived for the past 20 years.

This post is dedicated to our daughters: Priya & Prabha.


From our family album

Saying goodbye is emotionally stressful, whether to people to a place or to your home.  In my case all three are there. I’m leaving the people who have become part of our life, personally, professionally, socially and in any other ways, I can think or not think of; the place, the sophisticated and not so sophisticated landscapes of which have gained  permanency in my mind because of twenty years’ familiarity;  and our home, within the flour walls of which I laughed, cried, made joyous and bitter utterances, enjoyed motherhood while baffling at its challenges, and fought tooth and nail against a culture and a tradition that told me, as a woman, I’m the least important in my life .

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