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November 20, 2003
That time again
Many moons ago, I remember celebrating Eid/chaand raat in the true sense of the word. Two gutsy uncles used to pile us up (a bunch of hysterical girls aged six - 15), into a battered up station wagon, and then brace themselves for the deafening shrieking and giggling between which there were only those rare pauses, when we had to stop ourselves long enough to gasp for air.
The chitter chatter if one can call it that, you see, was actually one high powered consultation. There was nothing more important at that point except to have exactly the right shade of firozi chooris, with just the right amount of gold glitter to match perfectly with the poth ka churidar, firozi kameez, and chunnat wala dupatta which had gold kiran round the edges, stitched by Dadi/Nani.
And then the next day, before your father and others could make it back from Eid namaz, there you were, all dressed up, unable to contain your excitement at the prospect of getting more eidi than your other siblings.
While you stood by the staircase wondering how you would spend all that money — your father walked in. He took one look at you and it was enough to make you glisten like the gold on your chooris.
That was Eid then, what is Eid now? For that matter what is Ramadan? I have yet to be given a satisfactory explanation. The one I encounter most often is that fasting is meant to teach you abstention, tolerance, empathy, the chance to rise above your most basic needs, wishes and wants — but above all else — to feel the thirst, the hunger, to want and never have, to come as close as you ever will to self-renunciation. And then what?
And then there is iftari. Now there are two kinds. One is fit for a ‘king’ and the other fit for no one. Whatever happened to breaking your fast with milk and khajurs? A small historical reference here to serve as a reality check.
The point is that while the rich man has turned his iftari into a preposterously lavish, sumptuous banquet, the poor man has little to look forward to. Whose breaking his fast the way it’s meant to be broken? Whose breaking what?
I’m sitting on the fence here, which probably comes as no surprise to you. Last Sunday, I saw the condition my family members were in, and so I decided to treat them to iftari. Off I went to a shop selling savouries. Quite pleased that I was going at the right time and would beat the crowd.
However, a small omission on my part, the shop is always crowded. I stood in line, got jostled around, had the chap come up from behind me and nearly turn over a thaal of gooey jelabis on me, let’s just say my patience was running out.
Then a lady cut the line, I tapped her on the shoulder, she whipped around and let forth a tirade, leaving me stunned. I don’t know whether I was speechless because my pride had been injured, or whether I was simply so embarrassed, or whether I suddenly was left with no confidence to retaliate. Anyhow I sought consolation in the fact that I had not stooped to her level and after all it is not the season to be (w)itchy.
Last Thursday I overheard an exchange between these two young fellows. A said to B: “Yaar kal to Jumma hai.” To which B said: “Aish ho gai, bara say teen bajay tak namaz ho gi.” Then there was the incident at the water cooler, when I happened to be getting water during iftari time and this chap said to me: “Aap phichay hat jain, rozaydaron ka pehla haq banta hai.”
Is it so that if you’re fasting you are somehow excused from upholding commitments, meeting deadlines, being conscientious, working hard? Are you supposed to lose all sense of dignity and decorum? Should the absolute worst come out in you? Making you ill-tempered, abusive, mean and nasty? Devoid of compassion and mercy?
Those at the other end of the spectrum also deserve a mention here. Those who empty out their bank accounts before zakat is deducted. Those who believe the only time to be magnanimous and charitable is during this month. The rest of the year — the needy — well, they just stop needing.
As Eid draws closer, the lights are up as are the spirits, shops are doing booming business, traffic has never been better, and the air is charged with Eid fever. The iftari conversations are now about whose going to take how many Eid chhutis. I haven’t planned that far ahead yet, but I have to say, the fever is catchy and it’s rubbing off on me.
It’s time I started badgering mama for a jora, preparing Abbu for eidi, oh, I can almost smell the crispiness of those notes, and my favourite cousin, who incidentally is living with us these days, must not be left out.
I don’t know what it’s going to take to cajole him into taking me for chooris and mehndi, but rest assured I will come up with something. We must keep this quiet though, if he so much as gets a whiff of my plans, he’s going to take the first flight to Lahore to spend Eid with Bibi.
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