Ramadan is that time of year when fasting Muslims try to ignore the pangs of hunger even as everyone keeps flashing pictures of food and drink at them.

I do not understand why people are so determined to break my resolve. It is tough enough being lightheaded without food and water for more than 15 hours in the heat of summer in the desert.

This insidious campaign begins well before Ramadan by informing me which restaurants would be open during the daylight hours, the time I would be fasting. It’s like Satan coming to you in the garb of a chef and pointing out where you will get the best seafood, Lebanese mezze, Turkish pastries and Indian mince meat patties with mint sauce while you perform your spiritual duty and sleepily drive to work for your appointments or errands on a rumbling stomach. I believe it’s called subliminal advertising, where you give out information and let it sink in the back of the mind of the customer, and sure enough as you drive by Bank Street, you remember which eatery will be open now and serving everyone except you.

“I will check out the bakery section for fatayer sabanekh [spinach fatayer] for iftar,” you tell yourself as you park the car. The aroma in the bakery is overwhelming and at the checkout counter you see the nosy ex-colleague.

After an exchange of pleasantries, she says in a mock whisper, “Not fasting I see, wink, wink,” so that everyone around you hears the conversation.

You realise it is still nine hours away to iftar time, time of breaking the fast, so it is way, way too early now to pick up something for the evening meal.

Still, it is good that everyone else not fasting continue to lead normal lives and be allowed to eat or it turns them into super secretive people. You to a friend: “What are you hiding behind your back?” Friend looking flustered as if guilty of a massive crime: “It’s your fav chicken sandwich.”

Muslims do not eat or drink during the daylight hours of the ninth month of the Islamic calendar. It is to test our will power and the hunger is to make us feel for those who are less fortunate. We also introspect this month and try to become better human beings.

One Ramadan I felt sorry for an elderly woman begging for money at the side of a mosque. I emptied out my wallet and handed her a couple of fives and tens. “Bless you my son,” she said and I felt a feeling of warmth pass over me.

The next day I read in the newspaper that a woman was caught by police for begging. The galling part of the news was that she was nabbed just as she was about to drive away in a fancy car.

Then as your body slows down when the blood sugar gets depleted and you seem to be walking around in slow motion, you have to answer irritating questions. “Is it true you cannot watch a movie while you are fasting? How many calories does a date have? Why do you eat so much in the night?”

The onslaught on the senses continues throughout the month without any let up. It is as if everybody realises how hungry you must be and takes pity on you and reduces prices on the foodstuffs you should not be eating.

Glossy flyers can be seen everywhere advertising mouth-watering Black Forest cake, various cheeses, from mild Gouda to the salty feta cheese that goes very well with black olives, red, fruity Vimto and smooth, dreamy creamy chocolates.

Some people say that Ramadan has become commercialised, but I also see packed mosques every night as the faithful vie to complete the recitation of the Quran.

Mahmood Saberi is a freelance journalist based in Dubai. You can follow him on Twitter at www.twitter.com/ mahmood_saberi.