Eid Back Home

Ghar Wandhai Ghar’i Saasai, Bar’i Nyari Hay ni Zanh.

Its Baed Eid tomorrow. I am not at home. I haven’t shopped for the family and haven’t cussed at the level of traffic in the city. I haven’t seen my 9 year old brother with a stick, trying to be a shepherd.He must have nagged for having the hengal-daar-kath (sheep with horns) which my sister would have rejected due to her fear. He must have beaten the crap out of them and then kissed them on their faces. He may even have named them, must be the famous “Raju and Shera”.
I haven’t seen my sister locking herself in the house to save her from the three creatures that terrify her.I haven’t seen my brother taking photos and updating progress of the sheep on Facebook. Last year it was like ” The sheep are having a headfight, lol”, “Dear God!, mengan (sheep droppings) trail left by the sheep”. I haven’t seen my father lamenting that he has bought too much this time. I haven’t seen my mother throwing tantrums what have you brought? And secretly buying stuff for the house, after all her parents would come on the day.
My uncle serving us the moral lecture on how we should not be spendthrifts (it was because of him that I stopped bursting crackers when I was 12).

Then comes my grandmother, who must have walked miles to buy the traditional food and snacks for the family; the fini, the parathas from the shrines and her magical ingredients for her dishes. My Aunt must have got the new generation snacks for us.

Eid back home is the best of the year. Hearing the first Eid Mubarak from the loving zua, sipping the Kehwa and breaking the Kulcha, wearing the best khan-dress with an expensive perfume, marching to Eid Gah for prayers and my ritual of performing fateha at the Martyrs’ Graveyard. Coming home, meeting my uncles and aunts. And then the never ending search for the Puj (butcher). Slaughtering and the barbeque. Fighting over the last remains of the tsaguel (the testicles).

In the lunch having 5-6 dishes and the traditional Yakhnii cooked by my mother. Its incomparable to the Nasi Goreng that they serve here. The echoes of Eid Mubarak in every street.

The Markets are filled with the joys and laughter of the children; Flaunting their shiny dresses and the toy version of Beretta and Eagle pistols. Shopping for the crackers with their pocket full of eidi. Small kids flaunting their toy phones, boys using them as wireless sets. Girls with shiny purses hanging from he shoulders, which are longer than their height. . Shori Gagir, Phanwaari, Patakhi, Mine and double mine, taasi daar banduuk. Their faces lit up when their father buys them the so many crackers. They show off their experience to the mohalla kids by pulling of stunts like bursting crackers in their hands. Or having a war on the streets with crackers. Dropping them like bombs. You see conflict has made in-roads in our childhood as well.

I would wait the whole day for my grandfather to arrive, with his crackling-new 10 rupee notes.
The exciting visits to my cousin’s place and relishing the menu at matamaal (maternal home). “How much eidi have you got? Bas itna hi? I got much more. Going out with my friends on drive by the foreshore road and eating out.

Nothing is going to happen like it here away from home. I miss that Eid.

Eid Mubarak.


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