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My liking for horses became stronger with every passing day. I repeatedly asked my parents to get me a horse, but they kept giving me the same answer: that a horse was expensive, and that I needed money that I would use to was and feed it. This information almost dashed my hopes of ever riding a horse, let alone owning one. I reverted to my television shows, every day seeing someone on horseback, galloping away. Somewhere deep down in my heart I knew that one day I would ride a horse across the plains and into the jungle.
A few years later, on a sunny Sunday afternoon, I was taking a walk in the country. The air was humid and the sky was clear. The strong wind blew dust into my eyes as I turned my eyes towards a group of people gathered in some field. I quickly rubbed my eyes to have a clearer view. On looking, I saw a group of people on horsebacks and in helmets, with a stick that appeared to be a hockey stick, chasing at a ball-like thing. I innocently inquired from a stranger what they were doing, and the stranger whispered the word ‘Polo’.
I decided to go back home, excited at hearing a new word which I was sure was connected to the horses that I had just seen. I searched the dusty magazines that my father stacked in the library adjacent to his room. At first, I almost gave up because of the huge piles of books, some of which spread all over the floor. I took a deep sigh and embarked on my search. Almost an hour later, I found an old magazine, tattered at the borders. The magazine was in bad shape; the cover page, which had a woman in a helmet that resembled the ones I had seen the riders in earlier that day, had coffee spilt all over it, some pages were missing from the inside and some were folded at the edges.
I dusted it off and looked inside. That was my first encounter with Polo. Since that day, I always talked about Polo with every chance I would get. I kept saying to my friends that I wanted to play Polo
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