My Soulitude

Moving home and my dream of Jeannie!


I have been dreaming of Jeannie, every day and every night, since the time I last blogged. I have been secretly wishing for some magical twist of fingers to finish the process of moving home at the brink of an eye. Whatever little time I get in a day to sip my cup of tea, I swing into my dreamworld, thinking how lovely it would be if all my wishes come true by just blinking my eye in a cute little way or whatever way my Jeannie would approve of.

How I wish all the old curtains would hang by themselves perfectly in new door measurements, how I wish all my kitchen appliances would work in tandem with new switches, how I wish my new maid knows exactly what and how to do like my older one, how I wish the 95 cartons would empty themselves into the perfect places meant for them only.  And I wish and wish some more!

But for the record, I have done much more than wishing. I have actually moved my butts to get the work done. Shifting from one place to another is akin to being reborn. New faces, new surroundings, new challenges, new learnings, new people to deal with on an everyday basis. These include those who are very crucial for your comfortable living; your society’s manager, electrician, plumber, maid, milkman, etc. You start from scratch to form a symbiotic (one-sided from their perspective) relationship with these people. All the sense of familiarity evaporates. You long for the comfort of old relationships that had weathered the initial phases of forming a bond. I am not jumping at the thought of making new acquaintances and friends yet. It is helping that I have my old friends here and the place is not entirely new to me. The only sense of sanity I have in my life at the moment. I am dreaming of a day in a spa once the process is over.

Can’t share all the pictures as most of my friends are averse to posting pics online. But here is a precious soul I left behind.

No religion above love: She was my househelp all these four years who gave us abundant love and care just like her children. I hate to say this but still saying to urge all to live in communal harmony. She was a Muslim by religion, a fact that never bothered us nor her. She cooked for us and managed my house impeccably. Her five beautiful daughters could be a lesson in upbringing for all single mothers, and everyone else. We wish her well, always. I wish I could call her and say, “Ek cup chai bana do please!”

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