This week, share a post about something that’s about to disappear__ but worth remembering.
Today is, ‘Eid ul Fitr,’ a day we look forward to after thirty days of fasting. This morning I’m sitting in front of my computer and thinking about this day, how it used to be and how it is now.
I’ll go back to the time when both my parents were alive and we lived in a place we called our own. My mom was a pious woman, she believed fasting was sacred, it is one of the things she held dear. I cannot recall any of my siblings follow my mom’s example. We only thought about the day when fasting would be over and we’d get to wear, new clothes, visit friends in the city, and have a grand dinner cooked by mom.
My earliest memory was how we’d wake up at three in the morning arguing with each other, who gets to take a shower first, the reason behind it was who’ll get to wear the new clothes first. Meanwhile Dad had his own bathroom, he’d be ready wearing his all white Punjabi and pajamas, my brothers would do the same, we’d see them off to the mosque where they’d assemble for, Eid-ul Fitr prayer.
After the prayer my dad would call us for our eedie, this was money he gave us after the prayer, I don’t know where my dad got these shiny coins but I loved having them.
Mom would ask us not to waste time but assemble in the dining room to eat sweet shemai, it was a preparation with milk, sugar and vermicelli. It was a sweet prepared by all the families who celebrated ‘Eid.’
After visiting several families and tasting their version of vermicelli, we’d pray that we’re never forced to eat this stuff ever again.
Back home my super mom who woke up long before us and finished her cooking would again call us to get together for dinner. The dinner table was set with all kinds of food, chicken, beef, kebabs, pilaf and a vegetable salad. After dinner we’d be so exhausted we were ready to go to bed, while Mom was left with the left over foods which she carefully arranged for the servants.
Next morning was business as usual, Dad would leave for work and we to school and Mom was left to figure out what she’d feed us this day.
This brings to my memory the song, “those were the days my friend, we thought would never end.”
This morning I’ll make an attempt to emulate my mom in cooking everything she cooked, it’ll never be the same and I won’t have a house full of people to share with.
………………………………… 😦
Sabethville 