It is like we are preparing for an adventure like Jurassic Park. I can feel it in my gut — that we would come across experiences as great as those of Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn.
My little friend Rani is not as brave as me, but maybe it has something to do with her age and her parents’ concept of “soft-parenting.” She is only seven, while I am twelve — five years older and, in my opinion, five years wiser.
Her parents keep her away from rough stuff — always pampering her with dolls, Disney cartoons, cakes, and warnings about danger. Beach waves? Too risky. Mud? Too dirty. Adventure? Too unpredictable.
While I am unstoppable.
My mother is mostly found pulling her hair out while looking for me. Sometimes I hide inside the wardrobe cabinet, sometimes under the bed — but she always finds me and then showers me with a barrage of scolding.
My fault?
Just being on her cellphone, watching reels and accidentally sharing teary-eyed stickers with her boss; or spilling watercolours on my father’s brand-new Armani suit; or breaking the iPad while falling down from a chair.
Mistakes happen.
But my parents see them as historic catastrophes.
Even God expelled Adam and Eve due to some sin, but I have never been cast out of the house. Instead, I am grounded. How unusual.
The Pool Incident
One day we went to a pool party. Both our families were there: music playing, parents pretending to relax, and children being supervised like experimental creatures.
There was a large pool, with one end used as a kids’ pool. The kids’ pool was quite shallow.
Rani was standing near the edge of it, and all I wanted was for her to learn things, enjoy life, and not be terrified the way she always was.
So yes, I pushed her — but gently. However, she lost her balance and started crying as if she had survived a shipwreck. Hell broke loose — not on her parents, but on mine.
Mom slapped me softly but immediately out of anger and started scolding me again. I was shocked. Then I started sobbing too, lightly — not because it hurt, but because it happened in front of many of our school friends.
And here is the interesting part:
Rani stopped crying the moment I was punished.
Although Mom later felt sorry and made me my favourite white pasta, I overheard her telling Dad that she had to hit Sunny (me, even though it wasn’t my fault), because if she had not, everyone would think I was a rough, unruly child who could get away with anything.
That was the first time I noticed a pattern.
Who I Am
That is why it is of paramount importance that you do not see me through the lens of my parents and their friends, but hear this story through me — Sunny Soni, known among my friends as “Sunny the Sensational,” “Sunny the Funny,” or “Sunny the Curious.”
Yes, I ask questions because I want to know things.
If I was born to know nothing, I would rather be a curtain. Or a doormat.
I want to know where the ants take the bits of sugar across the kitchen platform.
I want to know where my pee goes down the toilet pot.
I want to know why airplanes do not fall down.
I want to know why Miss Anne wears lipstick to school and Miss Rachel doesn’t.
And sometimes…
I want to know what would make my mom hate me less.
Perhaps this trip will.
Travel always lifts her mood. She comes back happy and with revived energy. She likes taking photographs and uses them in the graphic design work she does.
But this trip might be different.
For the first time, we were travelling with another couple — the Mehras.
Dinner Conversation
Rani’s parents, Ravi Uncle and Rashi Aunty, had been to the Masai Mara some years ago, before Rani was born.
One evening, while having dinner at our place, they were discussing how comfortable it had been travelling without kids. The last time they went, there were only three couples — none with children.
To compensate for my behaviour at the pool, I wanted to make my mom happy with better behaviour. So I sat beside Rani, spoke to her like an elder brother, and made her laugh while she enjoyed the delicious meal made by Mom and Dad.
Mom was warming the food in the microwave while Dad was serving it to us at the table.
While eating, the elders were discussing Uncle Ravi’s new glasses and why his power had increased. He was explaining that his vision had somehow become weaker, so he needed lenses with higher power.
I got curious.
“How does something increasing in power make it weaker?” I asked.
Uncle Ravi laughed. “Well, my dear, that’s how it works with eye power. When we say my power has increased, it means my eyes need stronger lenses through glasses to work better.”
“So you cannot see without glasses?” I asked.
“I can see faraway things quite clearly, but nearby things are difficult to see. It is called farsightedness.”
“Then there’s nothing to worry about,” I said confidently. “You only need to see what’s far away in the safari parks. You can spot things for us.”
He laughed. “Yes, I can. But it doesn’t mean my far vision is like binoculars. It’s as normal as your parents’. I only have difficulty focusing on things that are too close.”
“Oh,” I said, wondering if that was what made him unable to see the tantrums of Rani, who usually performed them very up close.
The rest of the dinner went smoothly.
Dinner went very smoothly, and I found Mom and Dad really happy. Mom was especially pleased about giving Rani another gift.
Rani loves gifts.
Even before she sees them, she loves them.
My parents often buy her something whenever they buy me something. I sometimes suspect they secretly wanted a daughter.
When she received her gift that evening, she smiled from ear to ear. Her tiny fingers clutched the box as Mom held her from behind. She jumped with excitement and opened the ribbons as soon as she could, while all our parents waited eagerly for her to like it.
Inside was a picture book and colouring pencils.
Her smile slowly faded.
Mom asked, “Rani dear, don’t you like the gift? We thought you already had so many dolls. You would love to draw and colour now.”
“No, I like it, Aunty,” Rani replied, without lifting her face.
But the air had already sensed the upcoming performance. I was sitting in front of her, getting frustrated because Mom was so excited to make her happy.
Having had enough of the drama, I snatched the box and walked away, saying, “Maybe I’ll take it back because I love picture books more than you do. We will buy you a doll instead.”
The moment I took it, her eyes filled with tears and she started crying.
It began normally. Then it escalated. First like a child. Then like a wolf.
I hated it.
Nothing worked. Not even chocolate ice cream with brownies, which Mom served later.
And just when Mom scolded me harshly for taking the gift away — so harshly that my eyes filled with tears — Rani stopped crying.
Pattern confirmed. The drama queen was just extremely talented.
Preparing for Safari
I had watched enough Masai Mara safari videos to know that spotting wild animals requires silence. Absolute silence. Patience and Observation.
With Rani’s dramatic sound effects, this could be challenging.
So I made my own plans.
I packed my bag my way.
Fleece jacket. Binoculars. Chocolate bars. Pringles.
And… a scary safari mask I had bought from a carnival. Not that I would use it irresponsibly.
But if things got too noisy, perhaps one sudden lion face appearing from behind a seat might count as a little revenge. Only for a second.
Or maybe not. It could get me into even more trouble.
But I wanted my revenge.
Sunny the Funny does not find constant scolding or loud drama very funny.
And this time, I was determined to enjoy the safari.
My way.
Read Episode 2: Episode 2: The Journey begins