Setting off at 5.15am on Tuesday morning was a challenge, not because it was too early for my brain to get in gear, but that there was just too much to do before I left, and still I didn't complete everything I had hoped. That's the way it is!
The taxis got us to Heathrow nice and early, and in no time at all we were checked-in and ready for the first flight to Mumbai. Being "processed"at Mumbai was not a thrilling prospect. I was affronted when an official suggested that we should go through the way marked "Pensioners and Senior Citizens". As it was, we ended up in the shortest queue designated for Diplomats-not a description I feel sits readily upon my shoulders. After a lot more passport-showing, we reclaimed our baggage and headed for the Domestic Terminal, where we faced a wait of some six hours before our flight to Chennai. There's not really much to do at Mumbai Domestic, apart from drink hot coffee and stare at the other equally-uninspired passengers in transit. I had hoped an extravagantly-attired troupe would suddenly enter stage right and perform some Bollywood Airport routine. None such appeared, but humanity in many forms came and went, and I found myself making up stories on their behalf as to why our paths should cross that Bollywood night.
Some 22 hours later we reached Chennai. Hazy, hot, and horns screaming from the nearby roads in horribly noisy fashion to herald Chennai Rush Hour. Familiar sights, sounds and smells and masses of people. It was good to be back.
The taxis got us to Heathrow nice and early, and in no time at all we were checked-in and ready for the first flight to Mumbai. Being "processed"at Mumbai was not a thrilling prospect. I was affronted when an official suggested that we should go through the way marked "Pensioners and Senior Citizens". As it was, we ended up in the shortest queue designated for Diplomats-not a description I feel sits readily upon my shoulders. After a lot more passport-showing, we reclaimed our baggage and headed for the Domestic Terminal, where we faced a wait of some six hours before our flight to Chennai. There's not really much to do at Mumbai Domestic, apart from drink hot coffee and stare at the other equally-uninspired passengers in transit. I had hoped an extravagantly-attired troupe would suddenly enter stage right and perform some Bollywood Airport routine. None such appeared, but humanity in many forms came and went, and I found myself making up stories on their behalf as to why our paths should cross that Bollywood night.
Some 22 hours later we reached Chennai. Hazy, hot, and horns screaming from the nearby roads in horribly noisy fashion to herald Chennai Rush Hour. Familiar sights, sounds and smells and masses of people. It was good to be back.
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