Ahmed

Yesterday was Eid. and this immediately brings to my mind some very dear friends from childhood, of shared Biryani from a large plate and the feeling of community and abundance, of new clothes and ‘eidi” which was also a ritual my grandma followed (some pocket money specially for this day) and not to forget the amazing sweet sheerkhurma. Since we did all the festivals in their appropriate rituals, I really did not know the difference. For me they were occasions to celebrate.

Untill.

I remember, Ruksana, my friend in class 2.  Who I took home once, when no one came to pick her up from school. I waited, and made the uncle who used to come to pick me up also wait with her, till we were the only two people left in school. Then I didn’t know what else to do , so I took her home. My dad was down from Bahrain for a month long holiday. He at first smiled to see me and my friend. He called me aside and then asked, who she was, I told him, I thought he meant what was her name. I told him. And then, for the second time in my life he slapped me. Hard.

“Do you know who she is? –

“yes, she is Ruksana, my friend”  

“She is Muslim”

What is Muslim I asked?

Then ofcourse – “Don’t ask so many question” , followed. To be fair I did ask lots of questions

I still remember the ringing in my ear and the silence that followed in my mind. And the intense  anger I felt. After the initial confusion of …what is a Muslim? I had never known this as a “difference” untill then.

I made a silent wow that day, Never to compare. And never let my parents or anyone tell me who I could be friends with or not. I rebelled. Needless to say.

The irony, because I still did not know how to differentiate “muslim” , I did not realize the double standards, till another 3 years. My dad’s best friend was Khan uncle, someone who we loved and their kids and us we played together and his mom had been staying with us for a couple of years.

I made another mental note that day, I make many mental notes, not to have double standards.

This pain went from my cheek to my heart that day and has stayed there ever since. I made sure when my son was born, on the sixth day, another dear family friend Ayub said the azan in his ear. I am just so glad he has grown up to not do this comparison. And I am proud of him.

If only we let people be who they are. And NOT Compare. Anything.

I must also say, I had a hard time sleeping day before, listening to all the goats bleeting. It pained my heart a lot. I cried for them. My son loves mutton biryani. And he could talk about it and I could cry about it at the same time. Nobody needed to be wrong or right.

And I wonder later how would the world be if our experience was allowed to be just that, and not turned into some ugly judgement either about ourselves or others. And no one was trying to preach or be holier than thou.

To close the day, with all these thoughts in my head, we went to commercial street in Banglore. It’s crowded, people jostling, it was raining, it was hard to walk without bumping. And it was well, just too much at one point. And my son and me just wanted to get away and home.

And then suddenly I heard the strains of music on the handmade ektara. This man with grey green eyes, sitting and playing beautifully on the street. He looked lost in his music. His eyes seemed far away. The same crowd and street that was making me overwhelmed, did not seem to bother him at all. We stopped to listen. And I was amazed at how beautifully and without too much ado he played.

I bought one ektara from him. At first he gave me a new one. And then He said, I can have the one his was playing. I found that really sweet. It felt like it was my Eid gift.

And then he did something that I found even more beautiful. He started to teach me how to play the notes, on the ektara. I made some feeble attempts. And I could have just sat there but by now a crowd had gathered. I thanked him Wished him Eid Mubarak.

And left. Carrying the music, Ahmed’s willingness to share his gift and whatever he knew even briefly, in my soul.

His unassuming generosity was what stayed with me.

It struck me how little it takes to share and give. And yet how often we hold back these gifts. Make a big deal of giving when we do. My grandma used to say, “What your left hand gives your right hand must not know”

Meaning, let things be subtle. Don’t talk about what you have given or done. It isn’t you anyway, she would remind me. And yet I find so many times, we make this about us.

Maybe this was my Eid gift. To Meet and know Ahmed. Whose name means “Praiseworthy” and indeed he was. These fleeting moments are so precious when one human being connects with another, even briefly, in a world where increasingly even in a crowd, even with people you do know, one can feel alone. I don’t take this for granted.

I felt grateful. And touched by grace with this encounter with Ahmed.