Yadra

Based on a true story


This story takes place in a small rural village in Fiji, the year is 1954.


The chubby curly haired baby dwarfed his mothers lap. His mother Farida tried to bounce her 3 year old on her lap, while playfully repeating “humha chota mothu” which meant “my little fat boy.” She stared at her husband Sameer lovingly as he prepared for work. Using one hand as a seat belt around her big baby she used the other hand to hold the iron that was preparing his white collared shirt. Her efficiency as a wife and mother was impeccable; her destiny to be domesticated was chosen for her long before she even understood that life had choices. 


Her husband drove the local bus, and over the past couple of years, in this tiny village he had learned almost everyone's name, and everyone in the village knew his name. Sameer was meticulous with his preparation from the way he tucked his freshly pressed shirt into his crisp creased black pants, to the way he laced his black loafers. He made it a point to make sure that when everyone saw him they saw an image of success. His wife watched him with admiration as he gave himself a once over, he turned to her, gave her a kiss on the cheek, said I love you Jhaan, and moved towards the door. Jhaan in Hindi means life and everyday that he said it to her it put a smile on her face that she could never hide. She quietly said I love you too, he smiled at her as he pulled the door closed. 


Like most Indo Fijians it was mandatory for her to know how to cook and keep a home well before she was married. It was her mothers responsibility to make sure that her daughter was prepared to be a good wife before she became a teenager. This meant knowing how to keep a house clean, and cooking a variety of foods for her working husband, especially home made roti. It was one of the only food items that was just as important in its aesthetic as it was in its texture and taste. A round roti was a sense of pride for the matriarchs in a Fiji Indian household, there were almost bragging rights and slights made by relatives if your roti wasn’t deemed to be round enough. But in this environment, and at this time she was very fortunate compared to most married girls her age.


Farida and Sameer were married when she was 16 and he was 21. It was an arranged marriage but soon enough they did fall in love, he catered to her like a princess and she did everything she could to create a beautiful life for them at home. She had a husband that was caring, kind and considerate. Arranged marriages were relationships of force and control, hers was a Bollywood fairy tale. A large family was an expectation, but their first born, Aleem, started off a nightmare. 

A baby that never slept when his Mom would sleep. 

A baby that always caused commotion when it came to food. 

A baby that gave her very little peace throughout her otherwise quiet days. 

The rural life on the island kept her busy throughout the day. Every domestic task was completed without the benefit of any luxuries. From using the straw jharoo to sweep the floors multiple times a day, to hand washing those same floors with a bucket and a towel. She built her home. All while working around the tantrums of the cutest and most unfortunate baby tyrant.


Three times a week, first thing in the morning the milkman would deliver fresh milk from the local farm. The foot path that led up to their home was gravel. From the dirt road to the gravel drive it was about ten steps to their door. Every step made a crunching sound so you knew exactly how long it would take someone to get to the door. But when the milkman came you could hear the clanking of the bottles in his crate as well as the crunching of the drive. Aleem was never bothered by any other adults that may have been around. He would gladly have crying fits any and everywhere he wanted.


The only time Aleem went quiet was when the milkman Bari would come by. The minute he heard the clanking of the milk bottles his head would jolt in the direction of the front door and he would be completely silent. So much so that when Aleem was getting really frustrating his Mom would use the milkman as a threat to get him to keep quiet. She would say “baby shhh, I’m going to call Bari if you don’t stop crying.” For the most part it worked so she only used it when she really had to. 


Bari was the name of the milkman, he was an indigenous Fijian and would refer lovingly to them as kaindiya, which was a reference to her and her family being from India and not native Fijian. He was an enormous man with beautiful shiny brown skin and Aleem was absolutely terrified of him. He had a heavy deep voice and every time he tried to make peace with Aleem, it just made things worse. It was as if Aleem was looking at a monster, he would turn away, wouldn’t make eye contact and would shriek if Bari tried to pick him up. When Bari left Aleem alone, Aleem would sit completely still and silent as to not attract his attention. For the most part Bari understood and didn’t waste much time. 


Every now and then though Bari wanted to make peace, he was a giant friendly person, but Aleem was having none of it and every part of the milkman was a nightmare. Normally Bari would walk up the driveway, knock lightly on the door, and be greeted by Farida with the money in her hand for the milk before taking a bottle. He would greet her the same way every morning. “Yadra Farida.” as he stretched out his greeting, Farida replied with the same term of endearment. He never entered the home unless he was specifically asked but Aleem knew exactly where he was and as long as there was no eye contact he would just stare in his direction enough so he could see him in with a side eye.


Bari knowing this would slowly turn his head over to the baby who would be sitting on the floor and just when their faces were close enough to make eye contact Aleem would whip his head and look at another part of the room. Even though she liked Bari’s company she kept her interactions brief so her baby wouldn’t have to be so terrified. She loved how quiet and easy he was to deal with in this state, but she didn’t want it to happen out of fear. The moment his Mom finished her conversation with the milkman, shut the door and left, Aleem was back to the regularly scheduled programming of chaos.