“Ramadan And The Elders: How Older South Asian Women Reminisce About Their Experiences During The Holy Month.”

Ramadan and the Elders: How Older South Asian Women Reminisce About Their Experiences During the Holy Month

As Amma sat in her favorite chair, the soft light of the afternoon sun casting a golden glow through the window, she glanced at her daughter Nida, who was busy preparing the iftar table. The house was filled with the comforting sounds of clinking dishes and the quiet hum of the kitchen. Ramadan had arrived again, and with it came a flood of memories that Amma had carried with her for years.

Do you remember, Nida, when we were children?” Amma’s voice was soft but laced with nostalgia. “Ramadan was so different back then, wasn’t it?”

Nida paused for a moment, her hands still as she reached for the dates to place on the table. She smiled, taking a deep breath, knowing exactly where this conversation would lead. “I remember, Amma. You used to tell us stories about the Ramadan days when you were young.”

Amma smiled wistfully, her thoughts drifting back to the time when the world was simpler, and the rituals of Ramadan were more intimate and personal.

“I grew up in the village,” she began, her voice filled with the weight of years gone by. “We didn’t have all the modern comforts you have now. The days felt longer, and the nights shorter. But the spirit of Ramadan was so much stronger. We would gather in the mosque with the entire village, waiting for the adhan to signal the end of the fast. And when the time came, it was a celebration—a collective moment of joy and gratitude.”

Nida sat down beside her, her face full of curiosity and respect. “What was it like, Amma? How did you celebrate?”

Amma’s eyes twinkled as she reminisced about the simpler, quieter days of Ramadan. “Well, we didn’t have all the delicious treats that you enjoy now. There were no fancy samosas or biryani like you have at iftar. Instead, we ate simple things—bread with chutney, dahi puri, and of course, the ever-present rooh afza. But what made it special was the community. Everyone came together, whether they had a lot or very little. The joy of breaking the fast was in the company, in the shared experience of hunger and anticipation.”

The Spiritual Connection

Nida listened intently, captivated by Amma’s words. She could almost feel the warmth of the old village gatherings, the deep sense of connection that Amma spoke of. “So, it wasn’t just about the food, was it?”

“No,” Amma replied softly. “It was about the spirit of togetherness, the spiritual nourishment. When we broke our fast, we didn’t just feel relief from hunger; we felt a deep connection to each other and to Allah. It wasn’t about indulgence—it was about humility, reflection, and gratitude.”

Amma’s voice grew more reflective as she continued. “Back then, we didn’t have much, but we had each other. Ramadan was a time for us to come together and share what little we had. And the elders—your grandfather, may Allah bless him—would sit us down after iftar and remind us about the importance of charity, of giving, of looking out for those who were less fortunate. It was ingrained in us from a young age.”

Nida nodded, moved by her mother’s words. “I think we sometimes forget that now, Amma. The spirit of giving feels different with all the distractions of modern life.”

The Long Fasts of the Past

Amma chuckled softly, her eyes twinkling with memories. “Yes, the fasts were much longer when I was a girl. We didn’t have the luxury of air conditioning or fans like you do now. The summer heat in the village was unbearable at times, but we still fasted. There was no question of breaking the fast early or skipping a day. We had to endure, and it made us stronger, made us appreciate the little things in life more.”

Nida looked at her mother with admiration, realizing how different her own experiences had been. “I can’t imagine fasting in that kind of heat. But you’re right, Amma. Sometimes it feels like we take the comforts we have for granted.”

Amma’s eyes softened. “It’s important to remember that Ramadan isn’t just about fasting from food and drink. It’s a fast of the heart, too. We were taught to be humble, to avoid anger, to speak kindly to one another. It was a time for inner reflection. I remember spending hours reading the Quran, sitting with my sisters, discussing its meanings and how we could apply its teachings to our lives. The nights were spent in prayer, the taraweeh prayers bringing us closer to Allah.”

Passing Down the Traditions

As the conversation continued, Nida realized how much she had to learn from her mother’s wisdom. “I wish we could go back to that simplicity, Amma. To those days when Ramadan felt like a pure act of devotion, not clouded by the rush of the modern world.”

Amma smiled gently, reaching out to hold her daughter’s hand. “You can, Nida. You can bring that simplicity back. It’s not about the circumstances or the world around us—it’s about our intentions. Every Ramadan, I try to remember that feeling of peace, of devotion. And I pass it on to you, to your children.”

Nida squeezed her mother’s hand. “I want to keep that spirit alive. I want to teach my children what you taught me. The importance of togetherness, of reflection, of gratitude.”

Amma nodded, her heart full of love for her daughter. “That’s all I can ask for. Ramadan may change, the world may change, but the essence of it remains the same. It’s the spirit that counts, Nida. And as long as we hold on to that, the blessings of Ramadan will always be with us.”

The two women sat together, the warm light of the afternoon settling around them as they continued to share stories of the past. In those quiet moments, Nida felt a deep connection not only to her mother but to the generations of women who had come before her, keeping the traditions of Ramadan alive, one memory at a time.