You've been boxed up!

As mentioned in the previous post, the first week of September turned out to be a rather short one.

Apart from public holidays, it also involved some time off to prepare for the journey back to the United Kingdom.

Packing and removal of our personal effects was the first step. This happened on Tuesday when - after six weeks of chasing, assessing, bidding and finalising - representatives of the removals company turned up at my doorstep. Nearly half-a-dozen of them. Some were in the removals company's red t-shirts. Some in plain clothes.

They brought along enough packing material - boxes, packing paper, bubble-wrap, thermocol sheets - to pack the entire house. Quite different from those who came to remove our stuff in the UK. They had to eventually borrow boxes, cello tape, newspaper and old bubble wraps from us.

But then again, there were just two of them to do everything.

In Delhi, we had a supervisor, five packers, three helpers and a driver of the removal van.

The work started at about 9.30 in the morning. Mr Supervisor could that I was nervous about the quality of their packing. "We are FIAM and FIDI certified, and have been doing this for years", he said as I kept an eye on the old man packing the fragile stuff. "In fact, our boss is based out of the United Kingdom".

We have regular work from embassies and multinational companies like P&G. Please don't worry about your stuff. It will reach UK safely."

The old man most definitely knew his stuff. He not only handled the fragile stuff well, but used the packing material liberally to cushion it. Mindful of the ongoing monsoon in Delhi, his colleague put in plastic sheets to water-proof the packed stuff.

Their work didn't betray any sense of urgency. It seemed like this was the only job for the day. Quietly and carefully, they wrapped our life in Delhi - bundle after bundle, box after box. Whenever one of them tried to cut a corner, the supervisor would gently wrap the guilt person's knuckles.

Mr Supervisor was professional, someone who seemed to have rised up the ranks. He most certainly knew packing and was quite methodical with his labelling. Each box was labelled with a summary of its contents, before being stacked up in a corner of the living room.

We had chosen a weekday so that the little one was at school while the packing was happening. But the relaxed pace of work meant she was back before the packers could finish off with the delicate stuff.

The day hadn't begun all that well. Our domestic help had managed to break a couple of glasses before the packers arrived. The packers, though, handled these well and carefully packaged and boxed it.

Like in the UK, the initial assessment turned out to be conservative. The supervisor thought all the stuff would be packed in about 60-65 boxes. In the end, it was nearly 70-odd boxes that our personal effects occupied.

It was nearly 6 in the evening when the packing got over. The driver was instructed to bring the removal van to our gate and, one by one, they started taking the boxes away.

That was when they committed their only mistake. In the rush to finish off the job, a removal guy manage to break a flowerpot of the Landlady. To be honest, I didn't feel too bad. Served her right for what she done to the little one for Janmasthami cultural function!!

After they left, the house felt like it did before our stuff arrived from UK last December. Bare walls. Bare minimum utensils. Bare minimum clothes. No TV. No music. No computer. No toys for the little one.