Eids always make me nostalgic… I am transported back to Mubarak
Munzil – the home that I grew up in and that I still love and the magical Eids
we celebrated there.
Bathed and dressed in our new clothes, with hennaed hands, we
would crowd around the breakfast table. The menu was always the same. Piping
hot kichdi, dalcha, papad-badi and two varieties of seviyan. The one made with sugar by my mother and the other made
with jaggery – my grandmother’s specialty.
After breakfast, we went with Abba to the Eidgah. We were
left in the car while Abba and my brother said their prayers. Sometimes, our
neighbours would accompany us to the Eidgah. We would buy cheap, plastic toys
with our Eidi. What treasures they seemed to our innocent eyes! The bright, multi-coloured
toy tiffin carriers and a host of little things that gave us such joy. Eid
prayers completed, we would trudge to the cemetery and pay our respects at the
graves of our grandfather and other deceased relatives. From there, we
invariably went to Abba’s aunt’s house. Hers was a large family – her daughter
and four sons and their families all lived together in a sprawling house. We
would first visit her and then each uncle in turn which meant a round of seviyan everywhere!
Lunch was the traditional biryani.
There were always friends at the table. So we loitered around, eating, talking,
laughing… Sated, we would continue our conversation in another room. Idle
chatter, silly jokes, teasing each other... such wonderful times we had!
Evenings saw a continuous flow of relatives who came to greet
my grandmother and take her blessings. Then there was dinner – where we
sometimes had people coming over or we were invited to the houses of friends
and family. Time seemed to move at a leisurely pace then. Nobody was in a rush
and Eids were a joyous occasion of family and friends coming together, sharing
food, conversation and laughter.
When we grew older and could not accompany Abba to the
Eidgah, we followed our mother as she led the prayers at home. My sisters, the
maids, the cook all standing in a line behind my mother. Her duas after the namaaz, were for the whole world. She asked for health for all the
diseased and ill, for prosperity for the poor, happiness and peace of mind for those
going through difficult times. She prayed for the Palestinians, the Bosnians
and whoever at that moment in time was facing persecution. Her duas were so impassioned that they made
us all cry. Trying to appear unaffected and ‘cool’ - in the words of today’s
generation - my sister and I hid our tears behind a nonchalant smile as we
embraced each other.
Those Eids are a thing of the past. Abba, Dada and so many of
our relatives who were such an integral part of every Eid are no more. Life is
rushed and the business of living consumes our every waking moment. Few of us
have time to apply mehendi or make elaborate preparations for Eid. The Eidi has
increased but the joy it brings has decreased. Yes, Eids makes me nostalgic and
my heart yearns for the Eids of the past. Those innocent, joyous Eids at Mubarak
Munzil!
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