When reminiscing about her childhood, Mum used to tell me I had blue blood and I’d think, ‘Hmph, I don’t want blue blood. I’m happy with my red blood, thanks.’

She’d talk about a prince with a name I couldn’t pronounce, who lived somewhere far away, long ago. There was mention of a palace, tea plantations and riches. All of which meant nothing to a little girl who lived in a terraced house in a northwest London cul-de-sac with her parents, beloved ginger cat and a tiny stray tortoise we took in.

But, years later, the prince, the one with the blue blood that was somehow connected to my blood, came alive. The combination of an uncle interested in genealogy, the creation of companies such as Ancestry.com and my growing sense of being from England but with roots that stretched afar, sparked my curiosity and created a thirst for knowledge.

Using skills I had honed as a journalist, I discovered that Bindraban, who lived in the backdrop of the Lesser Himalayas, was quite a character. At 18, he was a rebel of a prince, a teenager who desired to see the world so badly that he threw off his royal garb, disguised himself, sneaked out past the palace guards and stowed away on a ship bound for South America in 1838.

Bindraban – my great-great-great-grandfather – was discovered on board the SS Hesperus among hundreds of indentured labourers and while such scoundrels regularly met unpleasant fates, he used his charm and guile to not only stay alive but to work for the British on a sugar plantation, rising up the ranks and eventually buying enough land to employ a fairly-paid workforce.

While he lived so many years ago, this man with his adventurous spirit and determination, comes to mind from time to time. To be related to someone who willingly gave up one life and started another, reliant only on what was in his head, can spring me from lethargy and nudge me to embark on new avenues, too.