Out of the Box

We were going to see it again after close to two months and the imminent encounter had been causing us some sleepless nights of late. How do you tell your stuff when it arrives at your new home that you have not actually missed it and could have managed perfectly well without it? And how would our relationship with it unfold in the days to come? Would we be able to tame it and keep it contained or would it take over our new space just as it did our old one? On moving day, when a smallish truck pulled up in front of our three-bedroom rental house, we exhaled slowly. Maybe it wasn't going to be so bad after all. Unfortunately this was just one of two trucks that were bringing all our worldly possessions home to us. It took the crew the better part of the day to unload everything. Still when we surveyed the final scene with the boxes neatly stacked in block tower formations in each room, we felt like we were in control and that we could handle it. But once we started opening boxes, it was like unleashing the monster within. Packing paper covered the floor and books, toys and clothes spilled out in every direction. Finally though, after five days, we were able to conquer the beast but that's when a lot of packer's regret set in for me. In hindsight, there were so many things we should have done differently when it came to boxing our belongings. Why, for instance, did I bring my countertop-hogging dosa grinder when you can get perfectly good ready-made batter in any store in town? Where can I find the local equivalent of a sturdy Rubbermaid laundry basket and what induced me to leave all of mine behind? Why does my Indian clothing collection fill two closets and include so many pieces that look like makeshift tents?
Once emptied, our boxes eventually fed the local economy when the household help and neighborhood cleaners who passed by picked them up and sold them to the raddiwala in the village just outside the gated community where we now live.