AMINA’S POINT OF VIEW

Weeks before Ramadhan, the stress levels are spiking, and the aunties find every reason to compete. Walking into my Mum’s home, I hear my aunt saying, “Oh Sabera, you know I made 50 dozen of samoosa already.” And my Mother responded, “Fatima, I made 75 dozen samoosa. Forty for Baboo and me and the rest for my daughter.”

I rolled my eyes as I realised Mother had forgotten that she had a married son, and it would be common courtesy for her to include his family and make samoosas for them too.

But should I remind her it will rock the boat, and I prefer to start the month on a clean slate?

Suddenly, I’m bombarded with, “Do you think it will be Ramadhan tomorrow?” I laugh, saying, “Let’s wait until Mawlana Bham tells us. I mean, it’s not official unless he tells us, right?”

I never learn the lesson, no matter how old I get, I think as the scolding begins.

Each year, as tradition dictates, Mother’s family comes over and is glued to the radio, waiting to hear if the month of Ramadhan has started. I didn’t find value in the tradition, but as I got older, I understood it was the small efforts made by family members to keep the bonds of kinship solid and tight.

It’s traditions that have maintained the bond of family ties. The moon sighting brings the squabbling uncles who fought during the year to come will come over and cheer together when the news breaks as the blessed month is welcomed.

As I watch the sisters preparing the meal, I wonder what the kitchen walls hold – a multitude of stories, the tears, and the laughter – where it all began – this very kitchen where my grandmother raised her children and her nemesis became family when my parents married.

I look at the old kitchen table, once used in the madrassah for generations in my Mother’s family, and now standing in the middle of her kitchen. As we set the table for dinner, we all remained glued to the small old-fashioned transistor radio waiting on the announcement; my sister-in-law Taskeen reminded me about Suhoor get-togethers.

Just then, the news broke, and we joyfully welcomed the blessed month of Ramadhan. As we wished each other, my Dad stood up, reminding us of the month’s blessings and that each of its days should be treated as our last to ensure we maximised the time we had to gain the mercy and blessings of Allah.

RAMADAN TIP:
Don’t waste time preparing food, as the award doesn’t go to the best menu for the month. Instead, spend time pleasing Allah S.W.T. Extend an olive branch to family members and make it a month of change.