The Irony of Being Yourself

There’s a picture on my desk of me with Ann. It was taken a few years ago ... before I got married. On one of my visits to Karachi. On Chaand Raat. I remember that night. Mygod, we had so much fun. Ann and Fahd and I. We were wearing sunglasses at night. Fahd was so embarrassed. My maggot and my GoodStud. LOL.

It seems like Eid was so many days ago and chaand raat - even longer.

I don’t know why it is then, that I’m feeling that pang now.

Of missing The Way It Used To Be.

We all grow up abhorring those little things that mark the way we are ... the way things are done in The Family. Little traditions etched in stone by practice year-after-year. Things like sevaiyan for Eid. We swear to ourselves, growing up, that when we have the choice and the chance, we will be different.

And before you know it, you have the choice … you have the chance. And you turn things around.

What did I do on Chaand Raat? I went to Ayoush for shisha and played UNO.

What did I do on Eid day? Lunch with Mummy, Max , Arfiman and Arif.

I do both things every week. When I came home I wanted to cry. I think I did. My Eid was a fucking regular Friday that you get about 48 of a year. My eid was fucking stupid. (Not that I am undermining the value of lunch with my family or shisha and UNO, but when it’s something you do every week, maybe it’s not something you should do on Eid)

You know what they say: be careful what you wish for - you just might get it.

I didn’t get any chooriyan this Eid. I didn’t get any Mehndi. Or new clothes. I wore some stupid shit clothes that I had lying in my cupboard.

Why?

Because I couldn’t be bothered.

To be honest, it’s not really about the clothes. Maybe a bit about the chooriyan and the mehndi.

Why do we want to be different?

Simple: Because we don’t want to be the same.

The irony of it was laughable. I’d spent my life despising the thought of do darjan chooriyah and mehndi and Eid kay naey kaprey and sheer khorma and going to fifteen different people’s houses for Eid. All grown up now, I have the freedom to NOT do any of it and now that I don’t, I realize I miss it.

Did I really want to spend Chaand Raat and Eid the way I did this year? Not really.

I would rather have been in Pakistan and spent the Eid in my parents’s Karachi house where it was Bhabhi’s first Eid in the family. But I didn’t care enough soon enough and I had the lousiest Eid I have EVER had.

I had a crappy Ramadan and even a worse Eid.

Do I sound bitter? Well, maybe it’s because I am.

That’s not even my point though. What I really want to say is this: I bet if, next Eid, I do all that I am complaining about having missed this year – all the choori/mehndi shebang - I know I will hate it and will want to have a relaxed Eid with some shisha and the chance to wear jeans even on Eid day.

Ironic, eh?