Tradition meets the mother of invention for Eid
Eid falls on May 23 or 24 this year, and I’m feeling bummed. Eid ul Fitr is the holiday that marks the end of Ramadan, and this year my family will be missing all the pomp and circumstance, the rituals and ceremony that accompany this day. Usually Muslims around the world would be eagerly preparing for a big celebration after a long month of fasting, but this year the pandemic lockdown has put a damper on everything.
Over the past two months, I’ve watched as people have found interesting ways to mark special occasions, like virtual Easter and Passover service in April, or online requests to wish someone’s kid a happy birthday. My friends are going above and beyond to make special homemade cakes and meals to cheer up the people in their family who have turned 5 or 40 years old under lockdown; I’ve contributed to flower deliveries and virtual Amazon gift cards and participated in Zoom calls to congratulate friends.
These are all nice gestures, but it’s just not the same.
At the start of Ramadan, with pandemic rules still in place, the Muslim community braced for a holy month unlike any other. Usually this month is marked by an uptick in family and community gatherings, more socializing, more hosting, and nightly visits to mosques. The abrupt curtailment of everyday life, including the closure of religious centres across the country, has resulted in a more quiet, introspective Ramadan, and one spent almost entirely indoors and in isolation. Eid will undoubtedly be more of the same, and it makes my heart drop.
Usually on Eid day, my family wakes early to dress in special clothes; the tradition is to wear something new, or new-ish. Over the years, my kids have worn everything from Old Navy polos to suits and ties. Sometimes I wear a fancy salwar khameez, or maybe a pretty dress. My husband digs out his thowb (a long robe) and kufi. We look good, is what I’m saying.
We drive to our local mosque, and after circling the block to find parking (another timehonoured Eid tradition) we set out for the prayer, which during good weather takes place on the mosque grounds. Over five thousand people show up for the half-hour service, and afterwards everyone hangs around to chat and socialize. We hug and greet family and friends, some of whom we haven’t seen since last Eid. Sometimes there are activities and loot bags for the kids, or a bake sale with treats and food for lunch.
This year, the only prayer my family will be joining will be the one we perform at home. We might conduct a drive-by visit at my parents and in-laws, wave at loved ones from our cars and perhaps shout out Eid greetings from a safe social distance. I definitely don’t have an Eid outfit picked out; I might not even change out of my yoga pants.
We are all feeling the sadness of being cooped up, of witnessing our “old normal” disappear as quickly as a sunset, and having regular life ground to a halt. This feeling is amplified when special occasions like birthdays, anniversaries and holidays roll around. Part of dealing with loss is accepting it, and allowing the sadness to roll over you like a wave.
My children are feeling gloomy about missing the traditional routine of Eid, socializing with family and friends, and of course, eating their grandmother’s delicious Eid lunch. The lack of Eid gifts will also leave a gaping hole in their hearts … and their pockets.
I asked my family how they would like to celebrate Eid at home, but we had a hard time coming up with ideas. I suggested we decorate the house, to which my elder son asked: what was the point, if no one would be visiting? When my husband suggested we draw a huge Eid Mubarak sign on the driveway, both kids rolled their eyes. Teenagers.
I understand their lack of enthusiasm stems from a combination of listlessness and restless energy from staying isolated these long weeks. Still, I think it’s important to mark the occasion. To treat Eid like any another day would feel like we had let COVID-19 ruin everything, instead of just most things.
For my birthday in April this year, we ordered takeout from my favourite Malaysian restaurant. For my husband’s birthday, I made dosa and sambar and chocolate cake with caramel icing.
Clearly, in my house we celebrate with food, so I proposed a family Eid brunch to my husband and kids. We settled on a menu of crepes with fruit and whipped cream, pancakes, scrambled eggs, and halal beef bacon.
It won’t be my mom’s traditional Eid lunch, but necessity is the mother of invention, and during a pandemic, the housebound can’t afford to be choosy.
Eid Mubarak!