echos of grief

Eid is always the day I dread the most in America. A background hum of sadness while doing the usual Eid festivities. And a sigh of relief at the end of Eid day.

You can’t even be sad in peace. “Don’t you know it’s Eid! Be happy!”

No. This Eid I’m upset.

I moved to America four-ish years ago. For the most part, I really, really love it.

It is often the case that I’ll be walking on some road, see a beautiful flower on a random tree and feel a profound sense of gratitude for being in America. Some my closest friends and fondest memories were made in the soil of this country.

But Eid stings.

Eid is just not the same here. Eid is, without a doubt, my best memories made in Dhaka. I’ll stay up all night while my mom cooks up a storm. I’ll get bored and start prank calling my uncles. They’ll tolerate my nonsense. It’s Eid, let the boy cook!

I’ll chase my sister around the house. She’ll then begin some elaborate arts and crafts project and churn through 20 drafts to make a single Eid card. It’ll be gorgeous. But my sister gets it! No one gets it. But my sister sees me and understands the essential truth of a creative. The point of creating anything, Eid cards or software, is more for the satisfaction of creating than the creation itself. As she folds papers and cuts newspapers, I’ll quietly write some code in the background. It would be fun to go back in time and collect all the code I wrote on Eid. I wonder if it was any good considering how drunk I was with all the kheer flowing through my veins.

The whole city is ablaze with takbirat. In the words of Rumi, “Allah, Allah – say it again! For those words are sweeter than milk mixed with sugar and honey”. There are four different mosques in the area. Every year I sit down with my dad and we decide what mosque should we go to this time. We switch it up during the different Eids. We make sure to use a different path to go and come back from the mosque, in following the ways of the Holy Prophet ﷺ. It is also the sunnah to eat something before going to Eid-al-fitr prayer. I am hesitant to eat this spoon full of kheer. Is it really Eid? Should I be fasting today? I double check. The month has that effect on you. Did God not say that fasting was so we could increase our awareness of Him?

People I haven’t seen all year have turned up to Eid prayer. People I only see at Eid prayer have also showed up. “We should catch up more often” we tell each other, each knowing that the next time we will see each other will be the next Eid prayer.

The Eid tradition is to try and visit as many houses as possible and eat as much food as possible in each house. However, you need to do some careful calculation. You can’t just eat everything at the first house you visit cause that limits what you can eat in the next houses. But you might really like what you see in one house so what to do? The answer is to just eat like a mad man. Hahahahaa.

The point of going to a bunch of houses is also economical. Your elders give you eidi/salami so the more elders you meet the more cash you get. As I turned older I realized that there were a substantial number of kids now younger than me and are now demanding eidi from me. My income slowly started becoming expenses. A cruel business lesson to learn. I pleaded to my family that they should stop having children. My appeals have fell on deaf ears.

The night ends with sitting down with my sister and counting our collections for the day. She, being younger than me, got more eidi. A tragedy to begin with. Then she turns at me and demands, that as her older brother, I must give her a significant amount of eidi. I punch the air but oblige.

A perfect day.

To go from memories of this to Eid after Eid, without even seeing your family, forget the festivities – is devastating. The thought of having a “Eid Fit” is depressing. What clothes will I use to cover over my grief?

I had tried a whole host of Google Flight tracker alerts, credit card point hacking and other financial wizardry to make flying back to Dhaka for two days for Eid a financially good idea. I realized that the only solution was to get rich.

My problem is that I just feel everything too much. I really wonder why the south asian men genes for ignoring emotions were not passed down to me. I wonder: is that something I could train myself to do? Where do I find the off-switch for my amygdala?

Am I ready to give up access to joy if it means I won’t have to contend with grief?

It is the day of Eid in Medina.

A young boy sits by the side of the street, after prayer, sadness in his face apparent. The Holy Prophet ﷺ, his concern from his ummah so great, comes and sits next to the boy and asks what’s wrong.

The boys dad had passed away. Everyone gets to celebrate Eid with their family but who will he celebrate with?

The Prophet ﷺ : “Would it be okay if for today Aisha, the mother of the believers, was your mother? That Fatima al-Zahra was your sister and that Muhammad ﷺ was your father? Will you celebrate Eid with us?”

There is fear of the storm, and dread of lightning
Our distress is severe, master, to whom should we turn?
If you would not trouble to see how we fare
Our afflictions would surely kill us
O king of the holy sanctuary

Will I, too, find a place among ahl-al-bayt today?