Many of Delhi’s rich traditions have now waned. Eid, like other festivals in India, used to be a simple joyous family affair. The city is now all about social climbing, and festivals have become opportunities for networking.

As children we used to rush to the terrace to sight the Eid moon. Once it was sighted, we would pray and go around the house greeting the elders with the phrase Chand Mubarak.

We lived in a huge ancestral house where the patriarchal head was my grandfather, the late Hafiz Yusuf Dehlvi. There were uncles, aunts, cousins, and old family retainers, and the sighting of the moon would send everyone into an activity overdrive. Our elders would teach us about the virtues of Ramazan and the importance of Eid. They said Eid was about gratitude to Allah and about forgiveness, sharing and unity. Abba often told us that embracing each other after Eid prayers was meant to ensure that we cleansed our hearts of any malice towards one another.

One of the first things we as children did on Chand Raat was ‘unleash the devils’ by switching on our television and radio sets. Ours was a traditional Muslim household where the television was veiled with a cloth and the radio would be locked away in Ramazan. The women of the house would prepare the Eid feast, while young girls would go to late night Eid bazaars of Ballimaran in old Delhi’s by-lanes to buy bangles that matched their clothes. Gotas on the dupatta borders used to be hand-sewn well into the early hours of the next morning. However hard we tried to have everything in order well in advance, there were always the last minute finishing touches that added to the excitement of the Chand Raat.

We would then come home and sit in the lounge listening to music and getting mehndi put on our hands. These days, there are professional mehndiwalis all over India, but in the good old days of Amma, we had the Mughlanis who attended on us and hennaed our hands. The married girls would put hamami mehndi, which was the colouring of the whole hand, but the unmarried ones were allowed a simple bataq design, which was achieved by putting a thick layer of mehndi at the centre of the palm keeping the fist closed for a few hours.

The next morning we would compare each other’s hands to see whose hands had the deepest colour. If the colour was rich and dark, the Mughlanis would tease us predicting that our mothers-in-law would love us dearly.

As children half the fun during Eid was about collecting the Eidi and then squandering it.

Each generation has its traditions which give way to new celebratory patterns. My mother recounts how on Eid she would exchange her dyed crinkled lehariya dupattas sprinkled with abrak with other young girls as a token of love and friendship. This tradition was used in a scene to establish mistaken identity in the famed film, Chaudvin Ka Chand. Ammi recounts young married women decorating themselves with gajras and necklaces made up of chameli flowers. The unmarried ones had to make-do with molsiri flowers and were not allowed to wear chameli fearing strong fragrance would attract djinns towards them.

For the last few years Eid and Diwali have been falling within a few days of one another making the markets in Delhi cramped with shoppers. Earlier in Delhi, the only place which buzzed with Eid activity used to be the Jama Masjid area and the adjoining bazaar of Chandni Chowk. The trend has changed and now Eid shoppers, mehndiwalis and churiwalas can be seen just about in every market in the city. However, the raunaq of these old bazaars and Muslim-dominated areas still retains its charm.

India is a land of varied beliefs. It presents an excellent opportunity for inter-religious harmony. Muslim homes are usually visited by non-Muslim neighbours and friends who look forward to sivaiyyan and other delicacies served during Eid. The homes of many well-to-do Muslims in Delhi have open house lunches on the occasion. I don’t know about other cities, but Eid Milan functions arranged by various organisations are a new addition to Delhi’s social life. These Eid Milans are usually held a few days after Eid. Delhi now boasts of the beautiful blue-domed India Islamic Cultural Centre right next to Lodhi Gardens, which has begun to host an annual Eid Milan tea party for its members that include the city’s Muslim elite.

On Eid and its following evenings, scores of Muslim families along with their burqa-clad women can be seen picnicking on the lawns of India Gate. Festivities for the lower and middle class Muslims are considered incomplete without a picnic and going to the movies. An Eid release is considered auspicious for films and many filmmakers, irrespective of their religious backgrounds, time their releases to coincide with Eid.

A true Dilliwali, I have seen the city of Delhi change. Many of its rich traditions have now waned. Eid, like other festivals in India, used to be a simple joyous family affair. Delhi is now about social climbing, and festivals have become opportunities for networking. The joint family structure has more or less collapsed, and like any other modern city, life patterns are insular and stressful. With relatives scattered in various parts of this large city, it is difficult to meet them often. Deprived of elders in a nuclear family system, today’s children unfortunately have little or no knowledge of tradition and culture and they end up being glued to their television sets watching Bollywood-based Eid specials on the occasion. Eid is not as much fun as it used to be.