Eid. The very word brings a smile to my face and puts me in a reverie of pleasant thoughts. The night before Eid is always filled with palpable excitement and anticipation, as everyone enquires of each other, "Has the moon been sighted?" I recall a couple of occasions when I caught a glimpse of the faint crescent which Dad would describe as a broken bangle, and Mum would look at, and utter some supplications. Soon after, fireworks and gunshots would follow, confirming the arrival of Eid, and the festivities would begin in earnest.
For children as well as adults, Eid is a joyous occasion, for there are gifts to be exchanged, new clothes to be worn, sweetmeats to be devoured and, most importantly, no school or office to attend. However, the true significance of Eid — or for that matter Christmas, or Diwali or Nowruz — is much more than just that. On that day, you very lovingly, warmly, go to your elders and wish them well. You do this wholeheartedly, and you seek their blessings in return. In fact, you wish a happy Eid to everyone you know, conveying a pure message of love and harmony.
Any misgivings, quarrels and arguments are forgotten and forgiven and friendships are reignited and strengthened. In fact, in situations where there has been an unpleasant exchange of words, people will often wait for Eid to meet each other, exchange gifts and communicate subtly that there is no ill-will and that all is now well.
Eid is a welcome occasion after a whole month of fasting as pre-Ramadan schedules are restored and eating French fries in public before sundown ceases to be an offence. For me personally, it's my reunion with my morning cuppa. When fasting I cannot have the caffeine-filled beverage at the pre-dawn meal (or suhour), for it would keep me awake until long after dawn. Eid marks the renewal of my strong ties (read: addiction) with a morning shot of coffee or tea.
Obligations
Eid, however, can be a little demanding, too. The head of the family must dish out a sizeable amount of cash and give everyone something, be they maids, wife or the children. And then there's that little matter of having to produce a sumptuous sweet dish. Generation after generation of children and grown-ups will relate how their mum made something truly delectable every Eid. However, those who find kitchen chores a nasty interruption on this auspicious occasion, are well-advised to run to the nearest sweet shop and purchase the item which bears most resemblance to mum's excellent culinary delights.
This particular Eid, however, is not like that of any other year. As I pen this piece, there is something playing on my mind. The plight of the millions of children and adults rendered homeless in Pakistan by the disastrous floods. The pain of their having lost everything from their loved ones to their homes and possessions is something that makes this Eid a sad one. A picture of a little boy whose face was swarmed with flies in a dirty, swamped area as he haplessly tried to wave them away was in the paper a few days back. The image haunts me. I wonder what Eid will be like for him? The only new clothes he might have will be someone's cast-offs donated by an NGO, if at all they operate in the area. Will there be something to eat at all — let alone a delectable sweet dish? Let's all do our bit to ensure at least a few of those faces are smiling on that day and that they can say ‘Eid Mubarak' and really mean it.
Eid falls later this week.
Mehmudah Rehman is a Dubai-based freelance writer.
