My parents had transferable jobs. This meant a new place for us every three years. When I started watching American tv series and heard about kids whining to their parents and slamming the doors in their faces when the kids were asked to move, I didn't quite understand it. For me, packing and moving to a new place was always an adventure. Yes, I had friends that I would leave behind but before the advent of the internet and Facebook, there was a beautiful concept called letter writing. The feeling of opening an envelope or an inland letter that you knew had news from a friend was amazing. The only reason why I choose past tense for the earlier statement is because letter writing is practically non-existent these days. We have to rely on home deliveries from sites such as Flipkart to satiate our "letter" receiving yearnings. So where was I? Oh yes. I loved moving around. The idea that there were more friends to be made, there were more people to be met, more neighbourhoods to be a part of was always thrilling. Weirdly enough, I also enjoyed packing, especially the cutlery! It was awesome fun ripping up newspapers and stuffing them in glasses, or making the perfect cushion for that fancy crystal plate that was only taken out when guests were around. We never hired any packers. My mum could pack an entire house in a little over a day. I suppose, she could have really started her own business in this department. One of the rituals we had every year was my mum sitting down in the middle of the room, surrounded by all the packed boxes, with some lone piece of paper that was left out from the packing. It would soon hold the list of all the places my mum had moved to after her marriage. Before getting married to my dad, she had only lived in her hometown and also the first place of her job posting. A year later she and her husband decided to fuel their nomadic tendencies. Many times the announcement of the transfer and the handing over of the relieving orders would be in very close succession and this would mean that my folks barely had time to find a place in the new town. This would mean moving into the first non-decrepit house that was available. Once there, along with the unpacking, the search for another house would begin. It had to be close to the school. The neighbourhood should be decent, a housing colony being the best bet. A hospital close-by would also be preferred. And in a few months, it would be time to move into a new place. So within cities, we have shifted multiple times. Houses on rent also come with, at times, fickle minded owners who can very suddenly decide to move back in. This was also a reason for shifting within cities. At each point, I've always been very happy at the thought of moving. I remember that I had spent more than 4 years at my last school and I had the persistent itch to move out of the place for all but the first 2.5 years there! There is something about being able to uproot yourself and then go through the exercise of finding a space for yourself at a new place. It is a journey each time. The people you meet are different. The senses are always greeted by new smells, tastes, sights and sounds. There is a feeling in the air that takes a while to get accustomed to. And, it takes a while to get accustomed to you as well. You are that stranger that is hard to place for your smell is now an amalgamation of so many others - one that is a mix of all the places you've been to. The air realises it as soon as it touches your skin. The texture. The feel. It is like a patchwork quilt. In a weird way, I am proud of this mix. And quite paradoxically, all these pieces from all those different places make my individuality. I suppose the glue could be mine. Apart from all these wonderful feelings, each time you reach a new place you are reminded of the fact that it is an opportunity to start over. It could be an escape. It could be an experiment. It could be an exercise in personal growth. But whatever it is, I have known something. The minute I step into a new place and introduce myself, I am assured of a whole new experience!
As I was writing this I realised that maybe the usage of 'shifting' for the exercise of moving could be a very Indian thing. Is it? I am too lazy to re-write it in any other way and somehow all my memories associated with moving are written with 'shifting'. I sure as heck cannot rewrite that. :)
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for me, new places love!
New people - depends.
Packing - hate :|