Off The Cuff: A wry look at life

"Can't I even drink water"? my son asked in a sort of feigned surprise when I told him that he and I would fast together on Sunday, his day off from school.

His classmates profess a diverse range of faiths and whenever a religious holiday or festival comes around, the school newsletter explains its significance, and the weekly religion section of Toronto's leading newspaper elaborates what Ramadan, Diwali, Hanukah mean, for its readers.

New immigrants who come to North America from various parts of the globe have one thing in common – they ferociously hold on to their religious beliefs and traditions no matter if Muzaffar becomes 'Mo' or Muthulingam turns into 'Monty' over a period of time (surprisingly, Greek and Polish immigrants Pappada-polous and Stanlieszwski remain Pappadapolous and Stanlieszwski even after three generations).

The nice thing about a multicultural society is that everyone learns, wonders and enjoys the differences, and the sameness, in each one of us. It turns out a generation which is proud of its legacy, but at the same time tolerant and open-minded.

Even after a pre-dawn 'sohoor' (a meal scrambled up by the mother at the request of the son, consisting of an omelette with cheese and mushrooms, waffles, muffins and milk) my tummy starts sending hunger pangs by about 8.30 in the morning.

When no nourishment is forthcoming by 11am, the ominous, threatening, growling starts from deep within.

Some time after 1pm the brain starts sending emergency signals to the body to conserve whatever it has to provide me energy and keep me functioning. At around 2pm, someone throws a master switch and my body goes into a sort of a "screen saver' mode and my efficiency level drops to 40 per cent.

My eyes, instead of glazing over, brighten up. My tongue starts to stick to my palate and I can feel each individual taste bud as I swallow hard. My son asked about drinking water because he found me one day on my knees, keening with pain.

A panic-stricken drive to the hospital in the night and the doctor said it was a classic case of kidney stones. My kidney stone was not a stone at all, but a very tiny sliver of calcium. How this minuscule thing floating about in your body can create that indescribable pain is beyond me.

Despite the many years in the desert Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, I never had kidney stones as I drank at least six glasses of water a day, which are essential to keep oneself hydrated and to flush away all the toxins. In the cool climes of Canada, I got fooled into thinking that no water was evaporating from my body.

Ramadan in Canada is much different from what it is here. Of course, there are no shorter working hours, and nobody stays up late in the night shopping. And a mug of coffee at dusk tastes heavenly in the winter cold.

Being abstemious has been good for me. I am now lighter on my feet and I can now pass by a doughnut shop without salivating. And I find that I do not need to sue any fast-food giant which was forcing me to eat all its junk.

Recently I read an article which showed that prayers are good for your health. Prayers, it said, keeps your body supple and that it is very good exercise. The many times one has to kneel, genuflect and raise himself from the floor, helps keep the body supple, it said.

An unusual way to catch the attention of the health-conscious younger generation. Prayer is like food for the soul. I would have presumed that it did not need to be tagged along with callisthenics.