Where are you from, I asked them both.

Kenya.

My jaw dropped in awe.

Beautiful mesmerising Kenya, a long cherished dream, a fiercely protected desire, the lilting call of a siren's song.

Tell me something, D asked me, at first glance where did you think I was from?

I had no clue.

No tell me.

I don't know. I really had no idea. I knew you were from Africa but it wasn't easy to place the exact country.

I thought about how it really doesn't make a difference to me because, in my mind, Africa is one big beautiful country filled with people and places I could fall head over heels in love with.

Then he told me how he's often mistaken for a Nigerian. It's my stocky build.

Nigeria made me speak about Fela Kuti. They smiled.

Oh you've heard Fela Kuti? T asked.

Yes!

That kind of music was called hi-life, D told me.

I told them about the Botswana that I've fallen in love with thanks to Alexander McCall Smith's brilliant book series.

I told them everything I know about Africa, like an excited kid after her first day at school.

Have you ever been to Africa? They both asked.

Never. But I've always dreamed about it. I've always wanted to see Africa and South America, and some parts of Europe like Greece, Turkey, Hungary and the Czech Republic.

We talked about their impression of India, how they realised the country was much more than the Patels and Shahs and Singhs that they see back home.

I didn't tell them I am Goan but I asked them about Goans in Africa and they said, Oh there is a huge Goan community in Kenya. They never stand out. They have assimilated so well; they often marry the locals and they're just like us. They love food and music and sports.

It made me smile. Yes, that sounds like us.

We talked about the diversity in India, in our culture, food habits, languages, everything. They spoke about the various tribes back home. They showed me their Masai warrior beads.

We talked some more about everything from industries and exports to advertising and film-making.

At the end of the evening, I was floored by the way they said goodbye. They even warmly shook hands with the maids (who were flabbergasted at someone actually acknowledging them) and thanked them for the delicious dinner.

When it was my turn, D held my hand, kissed me on both cheeks and said it was lovely meeting you.

T, who had stepped out on a longish phone conversation, came running back in. We had spoken less than D and I during the entire evening.

He held my hands in each of his, kissed me on both cheeks and said, we must meet again, I will tell S (the friend who had arranged the evening) to make it happen.

I thought he was talking about meeting again before they left India, and that it was just one of those polite things people say at the end of an evening.

But he continued, We must make your dream come true. You have to come to Africa. We will make it happen.

I still can't stop smiling!

To think I almost didn't make it to what turned out to be such a special dinner last night.

Africa. The dream lives on.