We Bengalis love goats. We don’t raise them as pets, we like to eat them. On Sundays in Kolkata, lots of poor goats’ lives come to a tragic end , so that middle-class Bongs have a festive midday meal.
Unfortunately, in America, goat meat is not sold in grocery stores. They eat a lot of beef around here. In big cities like NY or LA or Chicago, there would be Indian or Puerto Rican or other ethnic stores that will sell goat, but you are out of luck if you are in a small town. This is true even today, it was definitely true twenty-five years ago, when I met Ashokbabu with his lust for kids (no, not the human kind, but of the four-legged variety!)
Ashok was an older PH.D. student in his mid-thirties. Had some serious work experience in India before coming here. A nice guy, apparently with a mission.
“Dada, my parents are visiting. I want to give them Desi food. There is no Illish maach around here. Can we try to get some goat meat?”
I was not very keen on it.
“You can get, chicken , lamb, mutton, and all kinds of veggies. The Indian store in town sells all kinds of Indian spices. I am sure your parents are eating well. Where would you find goat meat here?”
“Dada, in Desoto, a little town about fifteen miles from here, there is a specialty meat and butcher shop that sells goat meat occasionally. Can we try on Sunday morning?”
We were off to Desoto in my car the following Sunday. The butcher shop had no goat meat. As I was ready to come back, a persistent Ashok asked the employees about the possibility of getting goat meat around here.
One of the employees suggested that there is a livestock auction back on the other side of our town and sometimes farmers bring goats there.
Slightly suspicious, I reminded him that we don’t want a live goat in our backyard.
“I will take care of it” Ashok assured me.
I was curious, and I agreed to drive Ashok there.
Now, my occupation does not involve contact with domesticated animals, dead or alive, so I have never been to a livestock auction before (and never since then!). The parking lot looked like a mini-zoo! Local farmers brought their choice steer or heifer to be sold for breeding, of course, but apparently farmers also vigorously traded other animals that they keep as pets or raise on the side. I walked by three peacocks, two emus (nasty spitting birds), cute little lambs, a couple of weird-looking iguanas - you get the idea.
Yes, there were two goats. Lovely , woolly creatures, all dazzling white! The farmer told us they are Angora goats.
Ashok’s eyes lit up. “We can buy one of these!”
“Are you kidding?” I objected loudly. “ They are raised for wool! Each one would probably sell for at least a hundred dollars. And why would you want to kill such beautiful animals, anyways?”
“I won’t mind”, Ashok smacked his lips, “I wish they were cheaper. I bet they would taste good.”
In a minute, two small trucks entered the parking lot. From one of them, three young goats leaped to the asphalt as they were released. No wool on these critters, either!
Ashok’s eyes lit up, again! “Let’s go inside” He prodded me along. At the entrance to the tent- like structure where the auction were supposed to be held, as we paid 50 cents each to register for the auction, the farmers gave us very surprised (and amused) looks. Clearly, we were not farmers, we were not even Americans, they had no idea what we were doing at a livestock auction.
Anyway, soon the bidding began and one after another, animals were bought to the podium and auctioned off.
The first goat was brought in and Ashok was all excited .
“20 dollars”. He bid loudly.
Alas, his cry fell on deaf years. The auction guy was not paying attention to us, assuming we were mere spectators.
Agitated beyond belief, Ashok approached the auctioneer, and gave him a piece of his mind.
“The next goat is all mine”, He lustily insisted.
Indeed, he bid $23 on the next goat, an young adult male, no one else showed much interest and in a few minutes, we were in the parking lot again – Ashok with a live goat on a leash, and me with the car keys.
“Ummmm….. Acchah, bolcchi ki, , can we take the goat in your car to the butcher shop? It is only ten miles, it will be fine in the back seat” Ashok pleaded with me.
It was my turn to get excited.
“I SHALL not accept any damn goat in my car. The goat will pee in a minute. Goat pee smells bad, in case you don’t know, and my car smells good, and I wanna keep it that way.”
“Please, just one time. I will clean up the car” Ashok was persistent
“Baaah” said the goat, seconding the motion, I guess.
I was persistent too.
“You have the following options. One, walk with your goat to the butcher shop ten miles away. Two, walk home with your goat for about five miles. Three, I will drive home while you wait here and ask my neighbors if anyone with a pickup truck wants to help us out.
Not liking any of the options, a desperate Ashok started walking around the parking lot with the goat on his heels. Went from truck to truck and asked:
“Excuse me, sir, would you give a ride to my goat to the butcher shop?”
At this point , I was LMAO or ROFL or whatever you guys call it nowadays. Just imagine the scene: an overweight Desi guy with a goat desperately walking around among a group of American farmers, asking for a goat ride.
Before my sides would split from laughter, incredulously, a farmer agreed. He was going to the butcher shop anyway. He generously provided limo service to our goat for $3.
Our adventure had a sweet ending, the goat was butchered, I got half of about twenty pounds of fresh meat, and both our families had many festive meaty meals in the following weeks.
From an accounting point of view, adding the auction price of $23, the goat taxifare of $3, our auction tickets of $1, and the butchering fee of $10, we did pretty good for about twenty pounds of meat.( Not counting an entire Sunday morning spent on goat pursuit).
After a couple of months, when the goat-lust struck again, Ashok wanted a repeat. Needless to say, I politely declined.
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