Ramadan mornings in Bangalore would begin with a sharp knock on the
door, Jameel Ahmed remembers. By 4:00, a town crier would be at every
Muslim home, reminding them to get up early so that they could eat and
start their fasts.
Later in the day, he says, the doorsteps of every house would have the
spaghetti-strips of saveyan, hung up to dry. The women in his family
would busy themselves all day cooking, and he watched them prepare it by
hand; the flour would be run on wooden boards, he says, and made into
strips. Then he would help them hang them outside.
And by sunset, there would be knocking on the door again. But this time,
it would be family, neighbors, and visitors, who would be over to break
their fast together, and stay to do the taravee night prayer in
congregation.
Ramadan was a month-long festival, he says, full of food, family, fun
and prayer. But living in North America, Ahmed says Muslims are
disconnected from the community spirit and festivity that the Islamic
holy month brings, and it’s a shame.
“The true Ramadan experience is something my kids have missed out by
living here,” Ahmed, 56, says. “I miss what I did 30 years ago, and
although I tell my kids what Ramadan in India was like, they can’t
visualize it.
“Here in North America, we do everything by ourselves. The nearest thing
are community dinners held at mosques, but I don’t think they represent
what you experience in India.”
There are an estimated 1 million Muslims from the subcontinent living in
America. Approximately 150,000 are from India.
What Safi Habibuddin, 24, liked about his Ramadan experience in
Hyderabad, was the celebratory way people came in droves to the mosque.
Just thinking about it, he says, makes him want to go back.
“When it was time to pray, thousands of Muslims would spill out onto the
street and flock towards the mosques, which were all decorated in
lights. Outside any mosque would be street vendors selling incense,
perfumes, clothing and fresh fruits. Motorcycles, scooters, rickshaws
and Ambassadors would whiz by, horns honking, bells going. It was
totally electric at every prayer time and it seemed as if everyone had
dropped whatever they were doing and headed for prayer.”
Living in Toronto, he says, he doesn’t feel what he calls a ‘Christmas’
feeling during Ramadan. “Mosques look the way they look all year,” he
says. “The amount of people that go to the mosques increases only a
small percentage and do not fill up the way they do in Hyderabad for all
five prayers in the day.” He does think that fasting during winter, when
the days are shorter, is a plus though.
To Muslims who’ve grown up in North America, Ramadan often means being
the only one in your neighborhood, school and work who’s fasting, says
Adil Syed, 23. Syed’s family is also from Bangalore, but he’s never been
there during Ramadan.
“As a student or bachelor living away from home,” he says, “the one
thing you hate is breaking your fast alone. The only option is to go to
the mosque or organize an iftaar on your campus, where you can be with
other people when you eat.
“It’s a blessed month, so it’s good to share the blessings with others.
Besides, it’s tough when you’re on your own. When you think about all
the good food you get with family, you definitely don’t look forward to
breaking your fast with French fries.”
While he may miss out on the community feeling and festivity of
experiencing Ramadan in a Muslim country or in a Muslim neighborhood in
India, he says there are benefits to following Ramadan in the United
States that give him a “powerful feeling of brotherhood.”
“When you break your fast at a mosque here, you get exposed to a more
diverse crowd,” he says. “In India, you just see your own kind. But in
America, it makes you appreciate that there are not only Indians and
Pakistanis who are Muslim.”
In turn, he says, it’s also an opportunity for non-Muslims to get a
personal exposure to the Muslim faith.
“In India, everybody knows who Muslims are and what we do. But not too
many know about Islam in America, so when you’re at work or at school,
people will ask you about your fasting, so it’s a chance for you to
teach them.”
For those Americans who have converted to Islam, even the simplest of
gatherings at a mosque gives them a happy sense of belonging.
“It’s amazing, that I can come in here and sit down with complete
strangers, and feel welcome,” says Tariq Ali, 20, a Puerto Rican convert
at an iftaar dinner in the Islamic Center of Brighton Beach, New York.
He kneels on the floor as white paper is rolled out on the floor in
front of him. Volunteers lay a plastic plate and cup before him. The
plate is soon loaded with dates, banana slices, bhajias, pakoras, mitai
and his cup filled with a concoction of Rooh-Afza and milk.
The muezzin’s call resounds in the hall over speakers, and after a quiet
prayer, Ali takes a bite from his date. Next to him, a Romanian-born
Muslim takes a sip of his drink, grimaces, and puts it down.
“This is Pakistani drink, yes?” he asks. He smiles, and decided to pass
on it. But Ali drinks and eats his food heartily.
“I’m here among other Muslims, and I’m happy,” he says. “When other
people are going to be celebrating Christmas this year, I’ll be
celebrating Eid.”