Day one of Ramadan is always crucial- it sets the tone for the rest of the month. Basically, you more or less get an idea of what to expect other than terrible breath and an unparallelled to the second awareness of maghrib time.
Essentially, Ramadan starts from the first Taraweeh. Like the month itself, the first night is essential. You can tell just by who's at the back of the mosque exactly how your evenings will go. Of course, the natural filtration that is "the middle ten days" effectively removes those 8 rakaaters, but the uncles who devote their lives to shouting the children who run in the back row are always there from first to last. You also get the "toe ticklers" and "sandal hiders", the guy with the hoody sleeping in the back corner, the devoted BBM boys, the one youngster who tries to read but makes eye contact when you look at him and the guys with the mini atr bottle in their top pocket so that their father doesn't smell cigarettes in the car. And of course, you get the grumpy man. The one who's main focus during Taraweeh is pulling ears and calling teenagers Haraami's. Normally clad in a black Jubbah with a snow white beard to rival even Sarumans, these stealthy old men are never seen except for thirty days of Ramadan. Ever silent, ever watchful, they come as quickly as they go. Some call them guardians, others jinnats. All we know is they're not the hero every mosque wants, but the one it needs.
First Sehri and early morning breakfasts. These are generally uneventful, with no leftover savouries from the night before you're resigned to eating as much normal food as possible. Many a nation has been fed on smaller rations than the ordinary Sehri portion- one would think you were stocking up for winter. However, better safe than sorry, you think as you stuff down yet another banana. And as you snuggle into bed and prepare for the weird after Sehri dreams, you think to yourself "I'v got this".
Come Zuhr time, and you most definitely do NOT got this. You find yourself thinking about the Butter Chicken in the fridge, and last week Friday when you were too full to help finish the Adega Prawns. All the while you're constantly aware of the fact that every time you open your mouth the Ozone hole gets bigger, you try using a Miswaak but you just end up with little hairs stuck in your mouth that you don't know whether you're allowed to swallow or not, so you quietly spit them out when you think nobodies looking. You find yourself playing the waiting game- deliberately not looking at the clock so that when you eventually do, you realise how close you are to Iftaar. The seconds tick by, time seems to stand still, you look at the clock and realise its been 15 minutes. You find yourself lost, you don't know whether that email your cousin just sent you will make your fast Makrooh or not. You switch on the radio and quickly adjust the station before you hear the Shaitani Lady Gaga. However, you promptly turn it back off when you realise your only alternative is Radio Al Ansaar. Make Sabr, you say to yourself, it'll all be alright.
Maghrib time and you firmly grasp your savoury filled tupperware with both hands. The hungry brother next to you is eyeing your cheese samoosas whilst you try to ignore the rumble in your stomach. By now your restricted to speaking in one syllable words as the smell of your breath is enough to level the entire row of Musallis, but as you count the seconds down and put that first Kajoor in your mouth, you realise it was all worth it. You might have accidentally opened the fridge to get a snack or rushed out before sunnats to light up a cigarette, but you survived. Bring on day two...
Essentially, Ramadan starts from the first Taraweeh. Like the month itself, the first night is essential. You can tell just by who's at the back of the mosque exactly how your evenings will go. Of course, the natural filtration that is "the middle ten days" effectively removes those 8 rakaaters, but the uncles who devote their lives to shouting the children who run in the back row are always there from first to last. You also get the "toe ticklers" and "sandal hiders", the guy with the hoody sleeping in the back corner, the devoted BBM boys, the one youngster who tries to read but makes eye contact when you look at him and the guys with the mini atr bottle in their top pocket so that their father doesn't smell cigarettes in the car. And of course, you get the grumpy man. The one who's main focus during Taraweeh is pulling ears and calling teenagers Haraami's. Normally clad in a black Jubbah with a snow white beard to rival even Sarumans, these stealthy old men are never seen except for thirty days of Ramadan. Ever silent, ever watchful, they come as quickly as they go. Some call them guardians, others jinnats. All we know is they're not the hero every mosque wants, but the one it needs.
First Sehri and early morning breakfasts. These are generally uneventful, with no leftover savouries from the night before you're resigned to eating as much normal food as possible. Many a nation has been fed on smaller rations than the ordinary Sehri portion- one would think you were stocking up for winter. However, better safe than sorry, you think as you stuff down yet another banana. And as you snuggle into bed and prepare for the weird after Sehri dreams, you think to yourself "I'v got this".
Come Zuhr time, and you most definitely do NOT got this. You find yourself thinking about the Butter Chicken in the fridge, and last week Friday when you were too full to help finish the Adega Prawns. All the while you're constantly aware of the fact that every time you open your mouth the Ozone hole gets bigger, you try using a Miswaak but you just end up with little hairs stuck in your mouth that you don't know whether you're allowed to swallow or not, so you quietly spit them out when you think nobodies looking. You find yourself playing the waiting game- deliberately not looking at the clock so that when you eventually do, you realise how close you are to Iftaar. The seconds tick by, time seems to stand still, you look at the clock and realise its been 15 minutes. You find yourself lost, you don't know whether that email your cousin just sent you will make your fast Makrooh or not. You switch on the radio and quickly adjust the station before you hear the Shaitani Lady Gaga. However, you promptly turn it back off when you realise your only alternative is Radio Al Ansaar. Make Sabr, you say to yourself, it'll all be alright.
Maghrib time and you firmly grasp your savoury filled tupperware with both hands. The hungry brother next to you is eyeing your cheese samoosas whilst you try to ignore the rumble in your stomach. By now your restricted to speaking in one syllable words as the smell of your breath is enough to level the entire row of Musallis, but as you count the seconds down and put that first Kajoor in your mouth, you realise it was all worth it. You might have accidentally opened the fridge to get a snack or rushed out before sunnats to light up a cigarette, but you survived. Bring on day two...
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