The aroma of dates, spicy chickpeas and fried food prepared from lentils and vegetables is missing in the air, so is missing the ambience of Ramadan, but life goes on - we fast like we did when we lived in Bangladesh. But some things are not the same as before.
Muslims are fasting for more than 16.5 hours here in the U.S. state where I live. Ramadan is so different away from home, where work starts late and ends early during this holy month. Here, on most days, we skip suhoor/sehri, the early morning meal. We eat our last meal at 11 p.m. and go to sleep. But in Bangladesh, eating sehri with family was an integral part of Ramadan. We would drag our half-asleep body from bed to eat sehri with other family members. The early morning meal was followed by chitchat over steaming cups of tea until the muezzin's call for Fajr prayer echoed in the air.
Eid-ul Fitr shopping almost always began before Ramadan. Here, Eid comes and goes by and most years, we do not gift ourselves new clothes and shoes. I no longer look forward to buying gifts for my parents because I know I will not meet them on the day of Eid. But this year, I plan on buying a new dress and a pair of shoes for daughter. I don't think it will be fair to deprive her of the Eid festivity. We have even planned a post-Eid road trip to New York City, where we have some friends and family.
My daughter is actually giving a new meaning to my Ramadan in America. She sits with us at the table for iftar, the meal eaten after sunset to break the fast. She tries puffed rice, spicy chickpeas and piyajoo, a deep-fried delicacy prepared from onions, chilies, black cumin, cilantro and paste of lentils.
Eid shopping does not mark Ramadan in the U.S. unless perhaps one lives in a city with a large Muslim population. But iftar parties are common - it is one way to connect with the people of one's homeland during this holy month. Such social gatherings help the immigrant population forget for a few hours the family and the food that they have left behind. We moved to a new city less than a year ago and do not know any Muslim family well enough to have iftar together. So, iftar means my husband, daughter and I sitting at the table with home-cooked food.
Muslims are fasting for more than 16.5 hours here in the U.S. state where I live. Ramadan is so different away from home, where work starts late and ends early during this holy month. Here, on most days, we skip suhoor/sehri, the early morning meal. We eat our last meal at 11 p.m. and go to sleep. But in Bangladesh, eating sehri with family was an integral part of Ramadan. We would drag our half-asleep body from bed to eat sehri with other family members. The early morning meal was followed by chitchat over steaming cups of tea until the muezzin's call for Fajr prayer echoed in the air.
Eid-ul Fitr shopping almost always began before Ramadan. Here, Eid comes and goes by and most years, we do not gift ourselves new clothes and shoes. I no longer look forward to buying gifts for my parents because I know I will not meet them on the day of Eid. But this year, I plan on buying a new dress and a pair of shoes for daughter. I don't think it will be fair to deprive her of the Eid festivity. We have even planned a post-Eid road trip to New York City, where we have some friends and family.
My daughter is actually giving a new meaning to my Ramadan in America. She sits with us at the table for iftar, the meal eaten after sunset to break the fast. She tries puffed rice, spicy chickpeas and piyajoo, a deep-fried delicacy prepared from onions, chilies, black cumin, cilantro and paste of lentils.
Eid shopping does not mark Ramadan in the U.S. unless perhaps one lives in a city with a large Muslim population. But iftar parties are common - it is one way to connect with the people of one's homeland during this holy month. Such social gatherings help the immigrant population forget for a few hours the family and the food that they have left behind. We moved to a new city less than a year ago and do not know any Muslim family well enough to have iftar together. So, iftar means my husband, daughter and I sitting at the table with home-cooked food.
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