Iftar in a different setting
Nowadays, when one looks at the front page of the national dailies or the TV screen, one can hardly be unaware of the frenzied consumers and not feel the pulse of the denizens at the shopping arcades. Makeshift stalls and restaurants are selling the mouth-watering iftar items ranging from jilebi, haalim, dahi-bara and many more. Ramadan is on.
But, I wonder why there are no pictures of how Ramadan is observed in villages!
My memory takes me back to my early visits to Sujabad, my ancestral home in Barisal, in our younger days and how we observed Ramadan.
After a nightlong journey, the big steamer 'Kiwi' finally docked at the shores of Barisal at dawn. From there, we boarded a boat for the final leg of the journey. The boat was clean and spacious enough to be comfortable even for our large group.
As the boat started off towards Sujabad, we all rushed to the deck to breathe in the fresh breeze from the river.
The trip was a long-awaited one for the whole family. We had planned to spend some days of Ramadan with our grandparents at our ancestral home. And our eager grandparents could hardly wait for our huge 'troop' of cousins, nieces and nephews to arrive.
The sighting of the moon was always a special event. We made fun wagers on who would spot it first. That night we would gather in the attic to catch a glimpse of the elusive silver crescent. As someone spotted it, we all scrambled towards that end to get a closer look of the 'thin strand' -- the new moon. The echoes of Azaan from the mosque heralded the start of Ramadan. The firecrackers went off next, probably some miles away. In the villages this was another simple way to spread the word!
The mehedi (henna) leaves had already been crushed and prepared into a fine paste. Then would begin the mad rush to have the most 'artistic' aunt make flowery designs on our palms and arms with the vermilion mehedi. While some got busy preparing dinner for the guests (with the greatest dexterity so as not to smudge the fresh mehedi!), others left for the family mosque for prayers.
At night, we huddled around the fire in the centre of the yard, as the tantalising aroma of kebabs and a long session of songs from bygone days put us in a festive mood. The food ranged from paturi (prawns wrapped and baked in banana leaves), fried fish, to polau, steamed rice and thick daal, fresh vegetables, salads, pickles and desserts. Grandparents being grandparents, we could not leave the table without tasting every item.
Soon after, we would settle in for the night. Dinner would be served early, so by 3 o'clock in the morning we would all be up for another round of meal -- sehri! Though it wasn't a pleasant experience to eat at such early hours, there was the pleasure of being with your close ones and take vow to fast for the next day. Dessert would invariably be topped with a bowl full of thick creamy milk with molasses and a banana.
By the next morning, all tiredness forgotten, we would wake up with full vigour thanks to the magic of the riverside air. While the boys took to chess and carom, the girls would lend a hand to dadijan (grandma) in preparing meals for the evening.
It was always a festive event not for just one household but for the entire neighbourhood. We helped the shy neighbourhood bous (new brides) who came over to help with the grinding of rice and spices. Some would accompany the elders to the nearby pond where fishermen were busy catching the king prawns and the ruhi fish. As the daylight faded away, it would be time for a hearty iftar.
In the family room, a big dastarkhan (linen) with neat embroidery was laid out on the floor. Glasses were filled with fresh lime juice, tokma, lassi or sweet coconut water. This was followed by piazu, muri, chhola, alu puri, dal puri and, last but not the least, moa (puffed rice balls with molasses) and a variety of pithas (rice cakes) coated in date juice and thick milk. Nothing would please dadajan (grandpa) more than the dates and chhola with ginger and green chillies. Flattened rice chira and curd were what he said cooled the system after a long day of fasting.
Besides the rich array of delicacies, what moved me most was the way neighbours would join in, stop by for a chat, arrange for iftar together, and simply enjoy each other's company. Elders would complain about the price of food, boys about who caught the largest fish, and young girls -- well there was no end to the chatter! It was not simply a quick iftar and rush off to watch TV, it was a time for bonding after a long day.
As we boarded our boat for the return trip, the happy visions of my family remained with me. Many years on, many miles away, I still hold dear those experiences. And for those of us who have enjoyed similar times, we know it's a time that will be cherished forever.
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