A Goat on the Horizon

A Goat on the Horizon

by Niki

It was a scorching afternoon in the desert of Jodhpur, India, with temperatures soaring to 110 degrees Fahrenheit, and the sun came down ruthlessly with its blinding brightness. Black tar from the road was melting like lava under my once clean, new tennis shoes, and as I looked around, I could see stray, sometimes handicapped and emaciated dogs scavenging for food or looking for shade, and occasional rickety bicycles limping by. While I was a miserable bystander, there they were, my four cousins, agog with energy, and happily chasing away the tall belligerent goat that had dared to take a bite out of my grandmother’s “kitchen-garden.” Then my eyes widened in awe and disbelief as, one of them, egged on by the rest, jumped atop the fleeing animal and rode it all the way into the horizon, leaving behind a dark, rising cloud of dust.

(right to left) Isha, Deepshi and I dance to Bollywood songs.
Read on to find out how!

After that wild goat-chase, the foursome ran back into the house, their loud laughter piercing through the dull afternoon. I followed behind listlessly, and then headed straight to my room to wash up. What kind of a summer vacation was I going to have in this unbearable heat, in the company of my raucous cousins, Tippy, Nimish, Dipshee and Isha, at my grandparents’ house in this remote, rustic corner of India?

I longed for a Californian summer. A summer in the picture-perfect setting of Santa Barbara, a summer that had dancing blue waves of the ocean shimmering in the fluorescent orange hues of an evening sun, and a summer that had a calming, cool breeze winding through pine trees, punctuating the warmth of the afternoon sun to create a goldilocks day. I missed outings to the malls and restaurants with my friends, and I missed my Harry Potter books and their magical world filled with wizards, witches, goblins and giants.

At the dinner table that night, my grandma served a menu of variegated delicacies, especially prepared for us, guests from America. Though I had already eaten daal bati, aloo matar ki sabji, and samosas before, my mother had kept the spices to a minimum for her “American children.” My grandma, on the other hand…I tried everything, my taste buds going for a wild ride with all the spices and aromas that I had never encountered. Everybody, watching intently, burst into laughter. All I could do was offer a feeble smile and finish up as quickly as I could.

As days wore on, I found myself at a massive handicap. I was deemed dumb for not knowing things that were considered common knowledge – local movies, music and celebrities, local sports, games, and trivia. I was considered passive and timid for not wanting to chase street dogs and goats, or run through puddles that could be carrying two hundred forty volts of electricity or harboring malaria-infested mosquitoes. I was labeled finicky for refusing to eat from the street-vendors selling red-hot spicy curries in fossilized aluminum dishes with patina that seemed to build over decades. I fell behind or got left out of the action. I would read and re-read the couple of novels that I had picked up for my airplane ride. My summer vacation was turning into an endless nightmare.

The real reason we had all gathered together at this particular time of year was for the grand festival of Rakhi, organized by my eager aunt (whom I addressed as Renu Bua). After about a week, Bua came to us and suggested that we all prepare a cultural show to perform for Rakhi night, three weeks away. My cousins immediately began murmuring excitedly. Isha announced that she had taken classes in Bollywood, and Nimish knew a bit of hip-hop. With some nudging from my aunt, I joined Deepshi and Isha to learn a Bollywood dance. Though I didn’t know much of Bollywood, neither did Deepshi, so both of us learned together while Isha led us, correcting our moves, and taking new suggestions – even from me. Over the course of the few days that we spent perfecting the dance, the two girls and I began to warm up to each other. Isha showed us her favorite dance videos, and I introduced them to some of my favorite English songs. After we learned the dance, we went to my aunt to report our progress. With knowing smiles, we politely refused to show her, despite her insistence - “It’s a surprise, Mom!” said Isha, impatiently.

Finally, Rakhi night arrived. The hall was filled with an array of lights and colors – everyone wore Indian dresses, saris and lenghas for the women and girls, and kurtas for the men and boys, and out-of-this-world jewelry made of the purest gold and silver. Resplendent in my turquoise lengha, I was dancing to the beats of booming Bollywood numbers with my cousins, as a big crowd of friends and relatives cheered on. I realized that my cousins were well-meaning individuals…we just needed a bit of time to break the ice. My remaining vacation was fabulous and I have had many more fabulous ones with my cousins year after year. I am ready to lead my American friends to rural India and show them how to have a ball riding a galloping goat into the dusty horizon.

Hi, I’m Niki, and I’m an intern this summer at Shopping for a Change! I’m a rising junior in high school, with a passion for singing and playing the piano. So far, I’ve had a great experience working, learning about marketing, reading inspiring stories, conducting interviews, and now blog-writing. Hope you enjoyed reading the installments of the interview!