Ah, Eid al-Fitr! That gloriously joyous celebration that signals the end of Ramadan and the arrival of life’s most vibrant, soul-nourishing party. I’m talking the kind of festivity that sparks an electric sense of euphoria and makes your heart feel like it could burst from sheer happiness and gratitude.
For Muslim families worldwide, the buildup to this “Festival of Breaking the Fast” is almost better than the main event itself. Almost.
You know those deliciously giddy feelings of anticipation you’d get as a kid, anxiously awaiting something as earth-shatteringly epic as a birthday or the last day of school? Well, take those nostalgic butterflies and multiply them by a thousand, because that’s the infectious energy that starts rippling through homes in those final, sacred days of Ramadan.
I can still smell the indescribable aromas of my childhood Eids filling up the air as the big day approached – my mom’s laboriously perfected recipes for legendary Eid delicacies like syrupy, flaky baklava, juicy kebab skewers charred to smokey perfection, and her specialty cream-stuffed gulab jamuns that haunted every sweet dream. Sheer bliss just thinking about it!
And that was just a tantalizing preview of the full-fledged feasting coma we’d undoubtedly slip into later. Because excessive eating is almost a sacred act of indulgence on Eid, a glorious departure from the month of fasting and restrictions.
Of course, no proper Eid day dawn ever kicked off without a little pre-feasting mayhem and monsoon-level commotion first. Our house would descend into utter pandemonium those final nights as the cleaning, decorating, and wardrobe planning reached a dizzying fever pitch.
I swear, in the mad frenzy of vacuuming, curtain changing and polishing every square inch until it gleamed blindingly, our humble abode practically underwent a bigger overhaul than those homeowners on reality TV shows. Because tradition demanded we greet Eid with every corner sparkling and purged of last year’s staleness.
Meanwhile, my sisters would be giddily stringing up rows of electric eid lights and hanging shimmery decorations until you could hardly stomp two feet in any room without getting whiplash from all the glitz. We’re talking part Las Vegas spectacular, part five-year-old’s wildest birthday dream brought to vivid, twinkling life.
And let’s not even get started on the military discipline of our pre-Eid clothing rituals. Picking out the newest, fanciest shalwar kameezes, shiny jackets and embroidered scarves was basically a whole festivity in itself. Those affordable anarkali suits sold on side streets back home suddenly became the year’s most priceless haute couture when you were a kid awaiting Eid.
So with that level of deliciously overwrought frenzy swirling in every household, you can only imagine the fever pitch of excitement that hit when the new moon finally arrived, signaling the end of fasting and Ramadan’s sacred month. For us giddy kids, it marked an excuse to stay up late into the night squealing and dashing around outside, igniting our stashes of firecrackers and sparklers we’d been hoarding for weeks.
Looking back as an adult, I recall being mesmerized by those flickering firework flashes dancing across my parents’ faces as they tried in vain to coax us rascals inside for the night. Their eyes shining with that universal parent mixture of exhaustion and heart-bursting pride that only an Eid night could bring.
Because deep down, they knew as well as we did that the real magic of this celebration was only just getting started. The glitzy light shows, joyful chaos and nights of reckless sticky finger feasting we’d look back on years later with the same nostalgic warmth as any perfect childhood memory.
Of course, while dinners at home with immediate family kicked things off, the real VIP Eid day experiences were the showstopping community gatherings, parties and festivals we’d circled on our calendar months in advance. I’m talking carnival-level extravaganzas crammed with families from every branch of our trees, laughter echoing off elaborate decorations and kaleidoscopic bursts of color, aromas and fashion.
From my vantage point as a squirmy little kid repeatedly being pried off tabletop desserts, an Eid festival fairground was pretty much the closest thing to heaven on earth. A fully sanctioned playground of deliciousness with rows of stalls selling channa chaat, fragrant biryanis and what felt like metric tons of ludicrously large gulab jamuns just begging to be devoured.
And we’d inevitably oblige, slick-fingered and delirious from sprinting cotton candy-fueled glee from one ride, game or treat to the next. All while our parents good-naturedly tried pretending we weren’t amassing stacks of stuffed animal prizes bigger than some of their younger relatives.
But if the fairgrounds were a luminous warm up of Eid ecstasy, the real headlining spectacle was undoubtedly the family feast events. Whether an intimate backyard barbecue or colossal rented hall gathering with the whole frantic village, they truly were a sight to behold.
As a kid, it genuinely felt like we were the center of a dazzling Bollywood-level production every year. Suddenly elaborately decorated tents, canopies and yards materialized from the ether, as if fashioned overnight by beautifying genies. Tables groan with enough riotously piled dishes to feed entire nations. And then there was the parade…oh, the indescribable parade of relatives and their entrance outfits!
I’ll never forget the jaw-dropping revelations as aunties and cousins made their red carpet arrivals in endlessly unfurling, rainbow explosions of shalwar kameezes that seemed to grow more radiant, sequin-dazzled and architecturally complex by the year. They left exquisite henna vapor trails of orangey-red perfume in their wake, swirling through clouds of heady incense and clinking bangles.
But as dazzling as the wardrobe debuts always were, they inevitably got upstaged as soon as the true Rockstar queen bee of Eid feasts made her big reveal: the food.
You could practically hear an audible “TA-DAH” chorus sounding from the streets as the enormous, groaning platters started being ceremoniously marched out from under their tented canopy curtains. Each offering like a golden cameo appearance from a holiday celebrity chef we’d been feverishly awaiting. First up, the smoky, crisp aroma of just-grilled seekh kebabs, followed quickly by the sweet lure of some sugary bread pudding delicacy only Indo-Pak grandmothers know the secrets to. And could that be…Why yes, indeed the unmistakable royal valance of a slowcooking, spice-drenched biryani taking a judicious turn around the table!
With each successive reveal, giddy new waves of uncles and oohing/ahhing children were breaking decorum left and right, shamelessly slipshoeing in for first dibs. And you already know us ankle-biter cousins were vibrating in road runner thermal lines to get our sugary mitts on the motherload of lurid-bright desserts. Once those syrup-drizzled servers of gulab jamun crossed the buffet threshold, all bets were off.
Yet even for us pint-size food adrenaline junkies, there were boundaries we’d never dare disrupt when it came to respecting the elders and their hallowed hosting duties. No matter how much of a free-for-all feeding frenzy we’d whipped ourselves into, we knew there were iron-clad rules like having to wait for the eminently patient head aunt or uncle to finally take their seat, lift the inaugural chapati and give the green light to “Bismillah, let’s begin!” Only then could the bacchanalia commence in earnest.
And oh, what bacchanalia it was. Plates were soon teetering high-rises of every imaginable curried meat, veggie mezze and oily bread variety known to the diaspora. Hydration bootstrappers of rose syrup drinks, saltlassis and sickly-sweet Rani cups on deck in case any uncle looked in danger of cramping up from overeating ecstasy. And despite every human at the table already visibly unsocked by the main courses, like clockwork a completely fresh armada of desserts would start getting rolled out for the final,
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