There is a stretch of land between the airport and Mangalore town that is so verdant and beautiful that it never fails to bring a lump to my throat. I get off at the bridge to inhale the fresh, earthy fragrance that I have missed so much.
“Wouldn’t it be lovely to buy some land here and set up a home-stay? We could build a couple of beautiful cottages and have our own boats to ferry people across”
“It would cost some. And who would want to come here?”
“The same people who go to Kerala. The landscape is similar, just not marketed right.”
“Hmmm, you would have to be prepared to cook. And travel less.”
The ever practical, dream busting R. Why can’t men have dreams that aren’t always populated by skimpily clad women or things with four wheels?
My daydream gets pushed to the back of my mind, seemingly forgotten. But I know it will recur, and this conversation replay with minor variations the next time we cross this bridge. I also know that it will remain just that…..a daydream.