A month of Ramadan

I have always gainsaid ambivalence to any religious footing; for such mere footing inextricably entwined with subsequent political stance comes as a package, has invoked many forgettable societal hubbubs. However, I have maintained handpicked favourite aspects from every sect & in Islam and the musalmaans who practise it, my favourites are food & music. Their heartily belted Qawwalis and nearly heart-skipping food are elusively delicious.

I have lived through another month of Ramzan. The city acquires an inexplicable glory during the month. Being known for its indigenousness to Deccan muslims in the south, Hyderabad, in its literal sound, has always been a heart-warming place.

It ain't Hyderabad but the full cycle of moon that brings in Eid that kicked the idea. The month of Ramzan is a one-month long prototype of human endeavour I feel. Few souls may be stupefied by me writing about the month of Ramzan but compelling is the metaphor & too obvious to ignore.

I was driving home, passing through the city that has spread a translucent layer of laziness atop itself. Few shops, here and there, were shimmering their brightly lit lights & it looked like a kid playing on his brightly illuminated iPad under his mattress, beyond his playtime. Under the covers so as not to be caught & reprimanded by his stern mother.

The shops were like a strand or two of gray hair on the scalp of a post-25 young man. Here one & there another. Rare in occurrence but apprehensively adding age to a man's life. The month progressed as slowly and steadily as a man's life. With each passing day & night, the number of shops open wide at nights increased in number; like the number of gray hair strands that invariably appeared in passing.

They say a man shines with all his vigor and in all his vitality as death looms over him with only days in count. As Eid came off the covers with itself around the corner, all the shops were lit, gloriously indeed, reminiscing a revered professor with his scalp shining with gray hair, dancing to the winds. 

Koran permits onl three days of mourning, I read somewhere. 4th day marks the beginning of a moved-on life with memories, good ones, filling the vacuum left by the left. People exchange alai-bhalais on Eid, a strange yet fitting allegory of the life of a man well-lived.

And a new lunar cycle begins.