Arrival

08/01/2009
Thursday morning 2.00am local time in Mumbai and I'm sitting in a hotel room sipping a freezing cold beer and trying to unwind, it's a bit difficult as there are loads of thoughts going round my head. The flight landed at half past midnight (7.00pm UK time) and my first impression of this huge city is that it smells of burning rubber. I don't know if that is just the airport or the whole place yet.

The exit from the airport also left an impression on me, I have been to Heathrow to meet someone and there have been a number of people waiting to “meet & greet” arrivals, but nothing like this – it's after midnight and there must have been a crowd of over two thousand outside the terminal building waiting, with name cards and without. It was akin to seeing people queuing to get in a football or rugby ground, with barriers up to keep people back. I would think that whole families turn up to meet their loved ones arrive.
This must have been a far cry from the reception that George Essex and family encountered when they arrived by boat in the 1890's, though it wouldn't surprise me if the crowds had been there too!

Leaving the airport terminal in a taxi I notice that there are terrible slum areas very close by, with people sitting round little fires at the side of the road, I don't know yet what they have cooking in the large round pots, but I suppose I will find out before too long.
There are also plenty of derelict or semi-derelict buildings (and road-ways too!) around the airport. I don't know if this is a sign of all of Mumbai as I haven't ventured any further yet, though my next port of call is the railway station for a train to New Delhi.
So, this is it!
The country that George and Fanny Essex called home for a number of years – and probably still do seeing as they are six feet under somewhere in this massive country. The enormity of the task is hitting home now, it will be worse than looking for a needle in a haystack. At this moment I feel that I should have spent a couple of years researching the possibilities before embarking on this quest. But, hey! If I'd done that I probably would never have set out on the venture at all – this is probably my only chance to do something completely selfish in my life and I intend to do it justice!.
The second pint of Kingfisher beer is going down nicely now, and I'm drinking to “pop” - my Grandfather Harry, who left these shores one hundred and eleven years ago as a four-year-old orphan - and I'm sitting not more than a few miles from where he embarked!
The term “pop” is quite poignant too as it's what Louise calls me – nothing I prompted either, though I must admit to a certain sense of pride when she calls me it, it seems to reach into the annals of time, and gives me an empathy with the roots I'm trying to tie together.
I will close now, but I must apologise to any readers as there is no internet in this hotel so the blog will be late in being published, but in future I'll try to keep to a daily timetable. Love to you all, especially my daughters Louise and Shana, who are part of this trip even if they don't realise it – my roots are their roots – only deeper! And also to Caroline who is suffering so much because I'm away from her side.