Every year, during the month of Ramadan, a natural, recurring phenomenon takes place in almost all Muslim countries, including ours. The brunt of mass societal judgment, which is normally reserved for the more destructive components of society, seems to be redirected en masse towards the sinister silhouette of a shivering minority that somehow confounds the masses with that singular burning question “why are you not fasting?” or trailing along the same myriad paths of questioning. The zealous fervour that seems to reverberate from these prying eyes if one were to even take a sip of water or try and dare slip in a Tic-Tac is simply surreal.
TS Eliot in “The Lovesong of J Alfred Prufrock” posed a deep question: “Do I dare disturb the universe?” Whereas the energy of this question was directed towards the understanding of a deeper metaphysical bearing of oneself in the universe, it would seem that anyone who dares to break the normal conventions of Ramadan etiquette could feel themselves forced to ask that same question, in very different tones.
As someone who cannot fast due to complicated health issues, I find myself deeply disturbed by the repetitive nature of my apologetic mannerisms during this period. I may as well be fasting when I am outside my house (which comprises of the larger portion of my day) as it feels like a voyeuristic shadow is always lingering and ready to catch me performing the blasphemous act of ingesting food at the ungodly hour of “before Iftar.” Even though the particulars of that given time does not apply to me.
I am no scholar of religion, nor do I even attempt to lay a claim at knowing anything for further talks or debates.
Even by the paltry standards I hold, I came to the reasonable understanding that fasting should deter the masses from these forms of insidious judgment rather than steering them towards it.
The didactic ambience is evidently marked by a few simple but synonymous etiquettes (please keep in mind I do not intend to insult anyone who keeps their fast genuinely, only those who adhere to the following):
Do not eat or drink in public, even if you are not Muslim, or if you are and have a perfectly legitimate reason not to fast.
Do not call us out on our hypocritical stances whilst fasting. If we swear or become extremely irritable and attempt to run down people in the middle of the road to get to iftar, it is perfectly allowed and you are not allowed to bring it up.
Eat and pray loads. More than the year combined, just to prove … actually I have not figured this part out yet. What does it even mean?
A friend of mine who is agnostic by faith was recently accosted by some very interesting comments.
Rather than meandering to an emphatic confluence of ideas that his colleague and himself might indulge in exchanging, my friend was blatantly told that the consumption of iftar was somehow an earned right if one fasts, and not to be consumed otherwise.
Other permeating ideas consisted of him not being able to watch television, listen to music, or engage in conversations with members of the opposite gender. As forward thinking or revolutionary as those ideals may be, I remain entrenched in the sceptical belief that somehow, this theological discourse may be somewhat wayward in its vivid interpretation.
I understand that all this may be just the ramblings of someone who has completely misunderstood “the meaning of it all” and I am genuinely willing to accept that as a critique from my end, but I honestly feel that there has to be a more cohesive form of mutual understanding, acceptance, and recognition of another’s belief or situation.
That my individual liberty should not be infringed upon, and in return, I ought to respect the convictions and sentiments of people who are following through on the fast for genuine and spiritual attainment. I feel that a reciprocating atmosphere such as that may set a lot of tensed individuals, such as myself, at ease.
As someone who thoroughly enjoys the diverse range of delicacies available throughout the month, I can never be too enamoured by the scented aromas circulating throughout the month or the festive spirit of the Eid countdown.
This communal feeling is, in fact, a very important part of my identity as a Muslim and as someone brought up in this culture. But if there is a disproportionate rise in attitude that mirrors my friend’s colleague’s ideologies, then where would that leave alienated Muslims such as myself?
I am grateful, however, that as a secular country (by name), I cannot be dissuaded physically from acting on momentary impulses of food consumption if desired or required.
There are no binding repercussions by law (that I know of), such as in Iran and Saudi Arabia, so I, like many others, am protected somewhat from intimidation that is physical, but alas not from the psychological kind. Does that make protection under law purely a conceptual stance? I honestly cannot say.
