Every country, every city has its individual way of welcoming the most holy and the most awaited month in the Islamic calendar. Delhi is no different. People here are more thrilled to get together and break their fasts than actually fasting. There is something about the month of Ramadan that keeps you on your toes, your lips moving with Allah (S.W.T.)’s dhikr (remembrance), and your heart wholesome, throughout. Being a period of not only fasting but of “refrain” altogether, the Muslims try to the best of their abilities to abstain from all immoral behaviour, and impure or unkind thoughts. We pray as much as we can, recite Qur’an as much as we can, and engage in as many good deeds as possible. Afterall, the reward for every good deed is 70 times more and nothing pleases Allah (S.W.T.) more than watching His most precious creation being grateful to Him and asking Him for everything it needs.
The streets of Zakir Nagar, Okhla, and Chandni Chowk are bustling with fasting Muslims, waiting in queues to get their packets of jalebis, pakoras, and samosas. Badaam (almond) milk is a special demand in many homes. The fruit vendors are extra ecstatic considering all their products are sold in no time because fruit chaat is a must at every iftaar table (dastarkhwan). Mangoes, bananas, apples, watermelons, melons, kiwis, guavas; you name it and its neatly cut in a bowl, cool and waiting to be taken bites of. Mosques are illuminating with fairy lights, studying and inviting Muslims to come inside and pray. You will see each type of date (khajoor) inside the refrigerators of Muslim households.
Every home, every family has its unique Ramadan routine that its members follow. Be it the grandparents or the children, the hysteria that lives in the hearts of every person who fasts is inconceivable. It begins right after the sighting of the Ramadan moon and stays until you wake up on the morning of Eid. It’s the kind of feeling that makes you feel grateful when you start counting all the blessings that you have in your life and leaves you overwhelmed. This feeling makes you giddy when you think of what you will be having for iftaar, the kind that makes your eyes tear up when you sit on the prayer mat and give Allah (S.W.T.) the list of your most desired wishes. Ramadan is that time of the year when you are your most vulnerable with Allah (S.W.T.). You are at peace with what you have and what you are.
The story of Ramadan in the Naseem House is as special as any other. It has been like that since my grandfather’s childhood days. As I write this, I recall my daddu telling us kids about how he used to run to his friends’ and relatives’ places at the sighting of the moon and wish them, “Ramadan Mubarak”. I vividly remember him telling us how he used to sleep for the most part of the day, for which he had to face the wrath of his father. He used to have a bath with ice-cold water, and helped his mother in the kitchen after feeling a tonne of guilt slide down his throat right to his heart watching his brothers do so. His favourite dish on the table would be chane ki daal which he loves to this day. Ghee ki roti is something he loved back in the day and is fond of even today, and so my mother makes it at his special request. My grandfather told us how he used to go for the morning prayers (fajr) to the mosque after sehri, post which he used to go for a walk with his friends. Speaking of prayers, when offering taraweeh at the mosque, being the mischievous kid he was, he played around and chatted, only to land in trouble (again).
I cannot forget the look on his face as he filled us in with his (some very vague) memories of his childhood and this auspicious month; he had a smile that was unlike any other I’d seen on him before. His eyes were looking into the distance as if searching for something very dear to him that he had lost. That made me realize how precious these 30 days really are, and the level doesn’t differentiate between a teenager or an old person.
Heritage. When I think of heritage, I not only consider the tangible aspects of it. The memories, traditions, practices, stories etc. that we pass on from one generation to the next also constitute heritage. The reason I mentioned this term is because from the 1950’s till today, not much has changed in this house. I’ve often given a thought to the fact that my grandparents’ likes and dislikes are very similar to those of my siblings and I. The famous chane ki daal that daddu so loves is my brother’s favourite. The kind of fruit chaat that my grandmother has been making all her life is the one thing I can never say no to. I can have this for all three meals of the day without complaining (and I don’t like to share my bowl with anyone, either). And mind you, this isn’t the kind of fruit chaat that you find in chaat corners/shops, this is a different kind and the recipe…nevermind that (like I said, I don’t share!)
In the present Nasim House, we make an iftaari menu which is basically the wish list of every single member. We fight over who will set the table and who will pick up the dirty dishes. Another bickering is over whose choice of lemonade will be made, in addition to the already exiting one over who will cut the fruits. Tricks are played on one another just to have that last sip of peach iced-tea. We brag about the crispy aloo ki tikki we made when our sibling’s bread rolls fail to impress everyone. We offer taraweeh together followed by a chai (tea) session which is the highlight of the day. Maggi and wafers often make a special appearance and win hearts, obviously.
Ramadan in Delhi is one of the best times of the year. You will see people with grins on their faces all the time. Iftaaris are exchanged among immediate relatives, iftaari parties are hosted, YouTube becomes the head chef for men and kids, new clothes are stitched and worn, hands are up in the air in prayer, smiles are the most broad and brightest, eyes are the most watery when asking Allah (S.W.T.) for forgiveness, and going all the way to Jama Masjid for sehri is the cherry on top the cake. We are more delighted for and during Ramadan than we are for any other annual event or festival.
This year, however, has been different. Mosques remained shut, standing in silence, looking at the passers-by, yearning for someone to come inside and offer namaz. The air that surrounds them has been heavy and uncomfortable all month. Covid-19 prevented any exchanges and parties. We could neither go to our Nani’s place nor could we get our favourite Japanese samosas from the heart of the city, Delhi 06. The streets of Chandni Chowk stood deserted, shop shutters were down, no kids were running on the roads, pushing rickshaw pullers and falling and laughing. Tandoors were covered, sweet shops were quiet, no hustle was seen in front of the paan shops, even birds have been chirruping awfully less.It has been quiet; it has been odd and unsettling. We’re witnessing our history books come to life. The only sound to be heard was that of humans praying to God. Besides, that’s all we can really do; pray.
Here’s hoping you readers are safe and healthy. Take care.
