Eid-ul-Fitr is upon us. As far back as I can recall; my mother has honoured the tradition of moon sighting to mark the end of Ramazan. “You have to see the moon with the naked eye, and make a prayer,” she says. Every year, we wait for her call, “Alhumdulilah, the moon has been sighted.”
It is an endearing tradition that she has maintained despite living in the modern-era of science.
Muslims (and Pakistanis in particular) jostle for who saw the moon first. This culture has gained immense significance, so much that memes and tweets abound -- #ifyouknowyouknow.
My cousins living away from Pakistan couldn’t relate to our experience because of the absence of Ramazan from the Gregorian calendar. To them, nothing lent visibility to this holiday. However, things are changing now. It is amazing to see communities marking this month on their calendars, recognizing and respecting the needs of Muslims who fast during Ramazan. Take that one Muslim student in Detroit, who stood up to change her school prom being scheduled during Ramazan. We now regularly hear about specialised pop-up soup kitchens, Ramazan focused readings at Muslim community centres, and its mention in school curriculums.
A friend established her local library's annual Ramazan programme back in 2017. Her team vigilantly fact-checks the information displayed and comes up with appropriate crafts and activities to encourage attendance.
Over the past few years, I’ve started spending time at the intersection of identity to get close to the human story. This involves connecting with identities of people who may not look like us but are living best lives in ways we probably do not understand.
So here I am, penning words about Ramazan, and knowing my own experiences are limited, because Islamic culture is diverse. I am fully aware that I share this month with approximately 1.9 billion others across ethnic, racial, and geographical boundaries; and I understand that Islam is not a single story.
I felt bonding with friends who also observe Ramazan and celebrated Eid would be one way of strengthening our shared Muslim identity. I reached out to friends from different points in my life; these are people who have over time helped me grow into who I am today. The sentiments they shared were unbelievably endearing and entertaining.
Everyone mentioned “Ramazan 101” questions: No food for 30 days straight? Isn’t that cruel and unhealthy? Can I eat in front of you? So, you really can’t even have water? It’s a total fast and not an intermittent fast?
Somehow, the abstinence from food and drink between predawn and sunset got the most eyebrows raised. Realistically, though, people who have fasted know that their stomachs shrink to the size of a baseball, and they could have a chicken boti and be full immediately. But psychologically, you're not full. You want to order three supersized KFC deals, have two calzone pizzas, and wash it all down with three gallons of soda. At the end of which, you think: “Oh my God, what did I do?” It's always interesting because Ramazan teaches us to appreciate the related psychological impact. So, to appreciate that chicken boti — that we can and would otherwise gobble down without a second thought, is one of Ramazan’s major lessons.
A friend whose family name is Ramazan, says, “The most common response I get when people meet me is, ‘Oh, your last name is Ramzan, just like the holiday?’ In the past, I would randomly nod my head. Now, I respond by saying, ‘How cool that you are familiar with Ramazan. It’s an entire month; to be specific, it’s the 9th month of the Islamic calendar. The holiday comes at the end and is called Eidul Fitr’. Most folks will give me a polite nod or a ‘Wow! That’s interesting’. But let’s get real, we all know the motive behind how I respond”.
Another friend, an educator by profession, spoke about an uninformed opinion she once received about Ramazan – something to do with the “fun in willingly and knowingly” starving throughout Ramazan, but supporting the trendy intermittent fasting.
Everyone agreed that it was Eidul Fitr that they looked forward to throughout Ramazan. After almost an entire month of steadfastness, rozay, bhook, piyas and shaitan – everybody somehow seems more than ready to let their inner gluttons loose -- sheer khurma, halwa puri, mehendi, choorian and family bonding…
Growing up in Pakistan, I remember having mehndi applied to my hands whilst ensuring (to the best of my abilities) that it didn’t get smudged during the night. I remember waking up on Eid day to check for smears and wash off dried bits to reveal the vibrant orange patterns on my hands. Last minute trips to tailors would ensure that I could adorn brand new outfits on Eid day, that we would celebrate with food, family, friends, bonding, visiting and endless Eidi.
One friend lamented being the giver instead of the receiver of Eidi. “Lene ke dene parr jaate hain. I still love Eid,” he says. Another friend mentioned being the “annoying kid”, while growing up – who somehow believed that Eid wasn’t meant to be slept through and, hence, ensured that everyone was awake throughout Eid. Another person mentioned the festival having become excessively commercialised over time and how he missed the simplicity of Ramazan and Eidul Fitr from our younger days. His comments reminded me of Eid cards we would buy as children. When somebody mentioned Eid baskets from this home-based bakery, one of my cousins sheepishly admitted her secret love affair with homemade sheer khurma straight off the stove on Eid day one, and how no Eid basket could ever beat that.
It’s an open secret, that those were the days!
Religion only partly explains who we truly are. Connecting individual identities to religion can be complex, confusing and difficult to explain but it did provide me with a unique life experience. I now see Ramazan with new eyes. The narrative about eating or not oversimplifies what Ramazan means to billions of Muslims around the world. Ramazan humbles you; it requires you to reconsider your consumption, your existence and your footprint on this planet.
I’ll let you know when my mother makes her call for the Shawwal moon, “Alhumdulilah, the moon has been sighted.” This will mark the end of Ramazan; but till then, remember, #notevenwater.
It is an endearing tradition that she has maintained despite living in the modern-era of science.
Muslims (and Pakistanis in particular) jostle for who saw the moon first. This culture has gained immense significance, so much that memes and tweets abound -- #ifyouknowyouknow.
My cousins living away from Pakistan couldn’t relate to our experience because of the absence of Ramazan from the Gregorian calendar. To them, nothing lent visibility to this holiday. However, things are changing now. It is amazing to see communities marking this month on their calendars, recognizing and respecting the needs of Muslims who fast during Ramazan. Take that one Muslim student in Detroit, who stood up to change her school prom being scheduled during Ramazan. We now regularly hear about specialised pop-up soup kitchens, Ramazan focused readings at Muslim community centres, and its mention in school curriculums.
A friend established her local library's annual Ramazan programme back in 2017. Her team vigilantly fact-checks the information displayed and comes up with appropriate crafts and activities to encourage attendance.
Over the past few years, I’ve started spending time at the intersection of identity to get close to the human story. This involves connecting with identities of people who may not look like us but are living best lives in ways we probably do not understand.
Over the past few years, I’ve started spending time at the intersection of identity to get close to the human story. This involves connecting with identities of people who may not look like us but are living best lives in ways we probably do not understand.
So here I am, penning words about Ramazan, and knowing my own experiences are limited, because Islamic culture is diverse. I am fully aware that I share this month with approximately 1.9 billion others across ethnic, racial, and geographical boundaries; and I understand that Islam is not a single story.
I felt bonding with friends who also observe Ramazan and celebrated Eid would be one way of strengthening our shared Muslim identity. I reached out to friends from different points in my life; these are people who have over time helped me grow into who I am today. The sentiments they shared were unbelievably endearing and entertaining.
Everyone mentioned “Ramazan 101” questions: No food for 30 days straight? Isn’t that cruel and unhealthy? Can I eat in front of you? So, you really can’t even have water? It’s a total fast and not an intermittent fast?
Somehow, the abstinence from food and drink between predawn and sunset got the most eyebrows raised. Realistically, though, people who have fasted know that their stomachs shrink to the size of a baseball, and they could have a chicken boti and be full immediately. But psychologically, you're not full. You want to order three supersized KFC deals, have two calzone pizzas, and wash it all down with three gallons of soda. At the end of which, you think: “Oh my God, what did I do?” It's always interesting because Ramazan teaches us to appreciate the related psychological impact. So, to appreciate that chicken boti — that we can and would otherwise gobble down without a second thought, is one of Ramazan’s major lessons.
A friend whose family name is Ramazan, says, “The most common response I get when people meet me is, ‘Oh, your last name is Ramzan, just like the holiday?’ In the past, I would randomly nod my head. Now, I respond by saying, ‘How cool that you are familiar with Ramazan. It’s an entire month; to be specific, it’s the 9th month of the Islamic calendar. The holiday comes at the end and is called Eidul Fitr’. Most folks will give me a polite nod or a ‘Wow! That’s interesting’. But let’s get real, we all know the motive behind how I respond”.
Another friend, an educator by profession, spoke about an uninformed opinion she once received about Ramazan – something to do with the “fun in willingly and knowingly” starving throughout Ramazan, but supporting the trendy intermittent fasting.
One friend lamented being the giver instead of the receiver of Eidi. “Lene ke dene parr jaate hain. I still love Eid,” he says.
Everyone agreed that it was Eidul Fitr that they looked forward to throughout Ramazan. After almost an entire month of steadfastness, rozay, bhook, piyas and shaitan – everybody somehow seems more than ready to let their inner gluttons loose -- sheer khurma, halwa puri, mehendi, choorian and family bonding…
Growing up in Pakistan, I remember having mehndi applied to my hands whilst ensuring (to the best of my abilities) that it didn’t get smudged during the night. I remember waking up on Eid day to check for smears and wash off dried bits to reveal the vibrant orange patterns on my hands. Last minute trips to tailors would ensure that I could adorn brand new outfits on Eid day, that we would celebrate with food, family, friends, bonding, visiting and endless Eidi.
One friend lamented being the giver instead of the receiver of Eidi. “Lene ke dene parr jaate hain. I still love Eid,” he says. Another friend mentioned being the “annoying kid”, while growing up – who somehow believed that Eid wasn’t meant to be slept through and, hence, ensured that everyone was awake throughout Eid. Another person mentioned the festival having become excessively commercialised over time and how he missed the simplicity of Ramazan and Eidul Fitr from our younger days. His comments reminded me of Eid cards we would buy as children. When somebody mentioned Eid baskets from this home-based bakery, one of my cousins sheepishly admitted her secret love affair with homemade sheer khurma straight off the stove on Eid day one, and how no Eid basket could ever beat that.
It’s an open secret, that those were the days!
Religion only partly explains who we truly are. Connecting individual identities to religion can be complex, confusing and difficult to explain but it did provide me with a unique life experience. I now see Ramazan with new eyes. The narrative about eating or not oversimplifies what Ramazan means to billions of Muslims around the world. Ramazan humbles you; it requires you to reconsider your consumption, your existence and your footprint on this planet.
I’ll let you know when my mother makes her call for the Shawwal moon, “Alhumdulilah, the moon has been sighted.” This will mark the end of Ramazan; but till then, remember, #notevenwater.