1 A.M., and he’s feeling tired and sleepy. The queue in front of him is long, but thankfully moving quickly. Eventually it’s his turn, and as he comes to the counter he reaches for his leather case. He takes out the contents and hands it over to the gentleman behind the counter, who hardly acknowledges his presence. The air around him is stale and damp, and he hears a baby crying somewhere in the line behind him. The gentleman behind the counter, meanwhile, looks up briefly at him for a few times, and without speaking picks up the rubber stamp. Flip, thud. With a forced smile, he hands him back his passport. Immigration check done, border exit date stamped. He’s technically out of the country.

People are not new to moving from one city to the other. Be it a new job, a new university, or something else — most of us move from one place to another at some point in our lives. But in my experience, you’ve never known about moving international, as much as a “knowledge worker” (whatever that means) from India does.

It all starts with getting the paper work done. The passports, the queues, photographs, mark sheets, the visas, the interviews. Then starts the planning phase, for it is a war effort. A master list of items ranging from pickles to pressure cookers, rubber bands to laptops, and socks to fur caps is prepared. Items are calssified based on size, weight, gender, and compatibility (you don’t want your shoes next to your pickles). In the end, though, it doesn’t really matter. By the time the bags are fastened, only the people who are not travelling know which item went in which box, or so it would seem.

He walks towards the security check, and although he knows the instructions by heart by now, you never know if they’ve come up with some new ones. He makes sure he’s not carrying any liquids. He takes an empty tray, removes his belt, empties his pockets, removes his laptop from it’s sleeve and places it all in the tray and puts it on the conveyor belt. The push and shove, and the nervousness surrounding him is now giving him a dull pain between his eyes. The wait is never ending. A bag gets stuck on the belt and there is a commotion as everyone tries to undo the pile up of bags. Finally, he walks towards the body scanner and goes through the scan. The officer takes his passport and boarding pass and stamps an approval. When will all this end, he thinks.

Then come the farewells. Friends and family are all excited, and wish you all the success. But sometimes, the loved ones need to stay behind for a bit. And in their heart the impending moment of farewell is unbearable.

After that’s all taken care of, comes the next phase, the travel. Oh, the travel! Depending on the destination, the travel can take anywhere between 3 hours to 24 hours. I have personally known cases of upto 48 hours of travel time. But its not just the air travel. With major international airports few and far between, this usually means a road trip of a few hours to take you to the airport. With all the friggin’ luggage to load and unload. This road trip is comparable to the process of removing a fish from water. I say this, because if you were to be a casual observer standing at the drop-off point at the airport, the expression you would see on the face of our weary traveler as he gets out of the cab, is that of a fish who’s just been taken out of it’s comfortable little pond. It is an out-worldly experience. Out of the comfort zone, it feels like the fish has now landed in the fish net and other fellow fish are doing the same fish-out-of-the-water dance.

After the nerve wracking security check is done, he walks over to the conveyor belt. He collects his wallet, belt, laptop, and his wits, and starts walking towards the terminal gates. The fancy shops make him feel like the worst of the ordeal is over. Walking at an easy pace now, he starts looking at other travellers around him and wonders what their stories are. The chairs around the terminal gate are comfortable enough, and he finds a spot to settle in and wait till the flight is announced. He whips out his phone and calls his loved ones and says his farewells before lift off.

Moving internationally is a physically and emotionally draining experience. The amount of effort required to pack up and move to another country for a considerable period of time is enormous. But at the same time it also holds in it a fascination for so many. It’s a change, a chance of escape from the routine, and a chalenge to set up shop from the ground up. This certainly is not the domain of Indian professionals only. I’m sure people all across the globe are doing it, and in some fashion they all go through the same emotions of anxiety, dread, excitement, and hope all mixed together. After having done this a few times personally, I feel international movers are different kind of travellers. Unlike wanderers and explorers, they travel with a lot of luggage, both physical and emotional. And although they know their destination, they still know not their destiny.

The flight is announced, and he watches the mad scramble and dash to the front of the queue from his seat. He has been through this before. Slowly, as the queue starts to move, he picks up his belongings and boards the plane. Once inside, he stows his luggage and settles down in his seat. Only a short while now, he thinks. He puts on his earphones and tries to take a nap, but there’s movement and noise around him. The plane lurches, rolls slowly towards the runway, and awaits instructions for lift off. He peers through the window and sees many other planes landing and taking off. Hundreds of people travelling around the globe in thousands of planes that trace a mesh of travel paths on countless radar screens. The engine rumbles to life and it kicks him back in his seat. The runway lights streak past him until they become blur and before he knows it, he’s airborne, flying away from the sun that’s just about to rise in the east.