S The clutter goes down the gutter when :hifting home amid moving moments!

Gaston de Rosayro

What a week! We have been in the throes of moving house. They say moving house is the event that most people list as being the most stressful they have ever weathered. O.K. I am ready now. I mean the trauma is finally over. Because we have finally moved house. We were only moving about half an hour away, but everything still had to be wrapped, packed and transported.

Now I must admit the former home although large was already crowded. It is what you call clutter. In the pithy Sinhala idiom it is called ‘Lutter Putter!’ I am not actually a hoarder, in fact quite the opposite. Actually most of the acquired junk of some 40 years of sojourns abroad had been stored away out of sight. But I also hate throwing anything away that I believe might be useful one day - the environmentalist in me and so there were plenty of items that I was keeping ‘just in case.’ When you have lived your life in some four or five world capitals you begin to realise that a house is just a place to keep your stuff while you go out and get more stuff.

It is only years later when you decide to move home from what you imagined would be your last that you become aware that you are the owner of some half a century of accumulated junk. Yes, your home is a garbage processing centre where new things are purchased and slowly relegated through various stages of ‘transhiftication’ until you're done.

I am mostly outvoted in the family democratic system. You are supposed to be an editor they say: “It's important to edit your closet. If you don't wear it, get rid of it! Life is too complicated not to be orderly.” Ok. So you suddenly imagine you can find a place for everything, everything in its place. One of the advantages of being disorderly is that one is constantly making exciting discoveries. Our ‘removalists’ thought the shifting process was great because most of the stuff disappeared before their very eyes while they were taking an estimate. Most of the stuff was given away. It means we've been straddling two homes in the space of some 18 hours.

Now I, the master of desktop clutter was in big trouble. Someone had once tried the old joke on me: that the desk top clutter actually is a picture of your mind. Messy desk - messy mind. I had of course asked what did an empty desk mean then? Oh Heavens, I admit I may have lost lots of invaluable things in the process. And everyone shall know it by the absence of heirlooms, trinkets, letters, objects that appear unprepossessing to the naked eye but trail invisible clouds of family history behind them. Do I have to give away my books, my thousands of newspaper clippings, my notes, my correspondence, my mementos, my souvenirs? All right some things have been granted a reprieve.

I stood there shouting: "Oh yes, take it! Take another little piece of my heart now with you!” Then I turn mournfully back to the house, where my wife and the girls are waiting for me to provide them with persuasive argument against chucking another pottery bowl in the bin. "It was presented to me by my journalism students in Hong Kong University! They loved me and I love it!” It reminds me of all the other souvenirs they have found and all those still to come! They are casting out my memories, enshrined in objects, priceless if only to me! “Don't!” I yell again. A crash, a tinkle, another sack filled. "Where does it end?" I wail.

My friend Tony checked out everything in the new apartment ahead of everyone else. He had just finished checking the maid’s room and toilet. He yelled out from the back while opening the small but chic retainer’s bathroom saying: “Hey! This is Robin Hood's house? It has a cute Little John!”

Tony also asked us not to trust another agent showing us around another apartment. We asked him why. He replied: He is always smiling. I didn't think anybody could have that many teeth without being a barracuda!”

This was the real estate agent who told us that most apartments today are built for compactness. That’s why they don't have enough closet space. Tony answered: “Sure they do. They're just called guest bedrooms.” So we managed to find one that was airy and spacious but with a large hoarding obstructing the view of the passing scene. The owners assured us that it would be brought down soon, although the developers had undertaken to have it removed within a year. But now the demand appears to have gone in one ear and out of the other – making it more than two whole deaf years.

Okay. So I like this apartment. Although I must point out some of its drawbacks. It has every new convenience except low payments. Yes, it is a modern all-electric home. Everything in it is charged. The sales pitch insisted it was cheek-by-jowl with the National Hospital and the swankest new private one as well. They claimed it was near the water. It was. Because the Norris Canal when in spate flows just two hundred yards away. The worst joke or so I thought was the card I received from a former colleague, Raymond, who sent us flowers congratulating us on moving into our new premises.

The flowers were beautiful but the card read: “Rest in Peace.” I called Raymond and asked him why the ironic joke? He was furious and arrived an hour later with some premium firewater and a fresh card . And as usual he had a story to relate. He had pounced on the florist who had apologised profusely for the mistake and reversed the charges for the bouquet.

He is reported to have said: “We are really sorry for the mistake, sir. But just imagine my plight. There is a funeral somewhere with our flowers and your card saying: Congratulations on your new location!"

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