Ah, the art of packing, a skill so fine-tuned that if there were a degree beyond a PhD, I’d undoubtedly be its proud holder. Allow me to regale you with my 52-year-long, humorously tiresome journey through the world of packing.
It all began in the hallowed halls of the Indian Army, where I served for 38 illustrious years. Rising to the rank of Major General, I had the privilege of experiencing 21 transfers (or as we military folks call them, “postings”). With a frequency rivaling leap years, I found myself packing and moving to new corners of India.
My wife, bless her heart, was my steadfast companion in this never-ending game of ‘home Tetris.’ She followed me to family stations, and when duty called me to non-family stations or remote fields, she gracefully endured the separation, each with her own set of bags in tow. Our children, no strangers to this nomadic lifestyle, became experts at changing schools and packing their own miniature worlds into suitcases.
In our packing odyssey, we honed our skills to perfection. We knew precisely what to pack, how to pack, what to discard, and whom to gift our excess belongings. We could spot a suitcase with the potential to burst at the seams from a mile away. Hiring trucks to transport our belongings became second nature. For shorter journeys, we became experts in the art of packing ‘travel light,’ balancing the fine line between essential and excessive.
Packing, I must admit, had a knack for humorously unpredictable twists. Unwanted items sometimes sneaked their way into our luggage, giving us a hearty laugh upon discovery. When asked about my qualifications, I would jest that I held a PhD. When probed about the subject of this fictitious degree, I’d proudly proclaim, “Defence Packing!”
Retirement in 2009 promised respite from this relentless packing routine. I envisioned staying put, finally freed from the shackles of moving. Alas, life had other plans. My son and daughter had settled in the United States, and our duty as loving parents meant frequent transcontinental packing sessions.
Navigating airline baggage rules became a skill in itself. Weight restrictions were to be taken seriously; a slight miscalculation could cost a pretty penny. Armed with a portable spring balance, I meticulously weighed each bag, determined not to fall victim to the dreaded extra baggage fees.
Visiting our children in the USA added another layer of complexity. Different cities meant smaller loads and adapting to varying airline rules. Some American airlines, I swear, seemed allergic to carry-on baggage, forcing us to pare down our packing to the bare essentials.
As the years advanced, so did our daily medicine regimen. A significant portion of luggage real estate was allocated to pills, ensuring we could keep aging at bay while exploring new horizons. Sometimes, for shorter journeys within the US, we opted for buses or trains, which proved more forgiving in terms of baggage allowances.
And, oh, the joys of visiting relatives scattered across different American cities! The packing drill persisted, even in our sunset years. Exhaustion occasionally settled in, but packing, like an old friend (or foe), was an inescapable part of our lives.
Returning to India presented its own packing challenges. We juggled the weight limit while accommodating gift items for loved ones back home. There was that one memorable vintage golf set, a bargain at $30 from a yard sale, that ended up costing me a whopping $200 in excess baggage charges on the flight to India.
So, dear reader, here I stand with 52 years of packing experience under my belt. As I write this article, I have taken a little break from my packing session for air journey back to India. In the end, I’ve learned that life’s greatest adventures often involve zipping up a suitcase and embracing the unpredictability of packing.
Guchi.
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