Does dancing in the rain count as a valid bath for the day? I’m asking because today we ran out of water. And by that logic, would sprinkling detergent on my fast piling up dirty laundry and placing it out on the balcony to get drenched in the rain count as doing the laundry? Because IFB has the stinkiest after sales service and the dumbest customer care officials on the planet. Because umpteen phone calls and yelling sessions, spread over four days, is apparently not enough to get a simple washing machine installation done. Would it help if I just didn’t clean the house of all the saw dust, wood chips, bits of insulation tape and what not, for the next few days and just do it once and for all when the troops of workers are all finally done with my home? Because every time I tidy something up, Murphy ensures that someone shows up to mess it up again. And he’s so methodic about it! I scrubbed the loo down, and we discovered the faucets were faulty. In came the plumbers with their grubby feet, splish-sploshing on my wet floor, walking about the house, leaving trails behind them. I unpacked the kitchen, stacked things, scrubbed the platform clean and felt very pleased with myself. Except the carpenter then came in to install the shelves we belated realised we needed. He climbed on top of the platform. And left what looked like alien footprints all over it. I unpacked my linen, the limited warm stuff we own and some boxes labelled MISC and stacked them into my now spare Godrej almirah. And then when I shut it, I realised the leveling was all effed up in transit, so I called the guys in to re-level it for me. They arrived promptly and after 20 minutes of fixing various things, just when I thought it was all fixed and done, asked me to empty out two shelves (the fullest ones, mind you) so they could check something.
Nesting is testing.
Its been four days since we moved, and we took off to a great start (the sun came out and the rain held out for the two days that we were actually moving our things! and we had SO MUCH help from able and not so able friends alike, who all pitched in wholeheartedly with all the heavylifting. I don’t know how we’d have managed without that!) with the moving. The optimist in me had planned to systematically unpack over the week, and have the house set up by Friday (tomorrow). But of course the universe has other plans. This move is turning out to be a true test of my patience, resilience, endurance and stomach muscles. Patience because everything is happening at a slow, Goan pace, quite unlike my own. Resilience because I am watching workers stomp around the house every time I clean it up, only to take me right back to where I started. Endurance because I don’t have house help as yet and I am unpacking and cleaning up side by side. And all of this makes me very, very hungry. Except I have no working kitchen. My cook top is bigger than my kitchen platform, and needs some jugaad to fix it. Therefore my stomachis being tested to the max too. No food to munch on between meals, and lots of restaurant food to fix quick meals.
So instead of systematically unpacking in a zen manner over 4-5 days, I have proceeded to unearth a brand new issue in the house every single day, punctuated by lots of cursing and cussing (fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck) and a meltdown or two (whatnonsense, goddamit, thisissuchrubbish, isservicedeadinthiscountry!).
You know they say when it rains, it really pours? I have now officially faced the full brunt of that. Its pissing down cats and dogs outside, the PWD is fucking up the street outside with a 100-tonne JCB drilling mega holes into the asphalt, which feels like they’re being drilled into my brain. All this, with carpenters, glass-frosters, plumbers, cupboard-fixers, Aquaguard installers and all and sundry traipsing in and out of my home.
Nesting is testing.
This was the living room on Monday morning. The husband and I took no time at all to do it up in a couple of hours on Sunday evening. Right after 1.5 days of hauling boxes down 4 flights of stairs int he old place and up to the new house. Somehow we unlocked some hidden reserves of energy and enthusiasm to get to it asap.
Leftover unpacked boxes, about 30 of them, were pushed into the study and forgotten for the next 24 hours, until husband recovered from the allergic reaction he had to all the dust and until I could catch my breath again.
That night we managed to stock up the fridge. Beer, before water.
And celebrated homecoming with friends, food and drink.
Monday onwards, I spent my time setting things in order. A challenge I love. I just wish there weren’t so many interruptions, so things would actually go to plan.
Nesting is testing. Its showing me once again that nothing really does go to plan. And this morning after meltdown #2, I decided I’m just going to let it go. And let it happen when it is meant to.
I kicked back, opened up wordpress, and looked out the balcony.
The view is very different from where I used to be. For one, I’m lower down, closer to ground level. The trees are closer, the rain falls harder, the sounds and voice from the street drift in. And for the first time, I registered the fact that its kind of gorgeous.
That’s when it sunk in. That I have been so caught up in setting up, getting it right, making it perfect, that I missed the precious little fact that from the moment I’ve stepped in, despite the prolonged state of WIP, the scores of people waltzing in, the issues I still seem to be finding every day, not being able to cook and everything else, I’ve felt at home from the moment go.
Nesting is testing. But I think we’re home now.