“Ramadan Stories From Elders: South Asian Women Sharing Nostalgic Tales With Younger Generations.”
Ramadan Stories From Elders: South Asian Women Sharing Nostalgic Tales With Younger Generations
The soft glow of fairy lights flickered across the living room as Hina sat cross-legged on the rug, her hands resting in her lap, eyes wide with curiosity. Across from her, Saira Apa poured two cups of chai, the steam curling between them like an unspoken bridge between the past and present.
Ramadan had always been more than just fasting—it was about the stories, the traditions, the memories passed down like precious heirlooms. And tonight, Hina was eager to listen.
Saira’s Story: Ramadan in the Village
Saira stirred her chai thoughtfully. “You know, when I was your age, Ramadan felt different,” she began, her voice tinged with nostalgia.
“In the village, we didn’t have alarms to wake us up for Sehri. Instead, a man with a dhol would walk through the streets, beating his drum, calling everyone to wake up. The sound would echo against the quiet walls, and I remember snuggling deeper into my blanket, hoping Amma wouldn’t notice I was still half-asleep.”
Hina grinned. “And did she?”
Saira laughed. “Of course she did! She would pull me out of bed and sit me down in front of a steaming plate of parathas and fresh yogurt. I remember how the warm ghee melted into the bread, and how we’d eat while listening to Abu recite duas. It was simple, but it felt… special.”
Hina took a sip of her chai, imagining the sleepy streets of the village, the steady beat of the drum, the scent of hot parathas filling the air.
Hina’s Reflection: Comparing Past and Present
“But Apa, wasn’t it hard?” she asked. “You didn’t have cold Rooh Afza or all these fancy Iftar spreads like we do now.”
Saira smiled, shaking her head. “We didn’t know any different. Iftar was simple—khajoor, pakoras, and maybe a glass of lassi if we were lucky. But we had something else… we had the whole neighborhood breaking fast together. The doors stayed open, and people shared food without even thinking twice.”
Hina thought about their quiet, air-conditioned apartment, where Iftar was just their family of four at the table. “That sounds… nice,” she admitted. “Now everyone is just busy with their own lives.”
Saira reached out and gently patted Hina’s hand. “That’s why we share these stories. So you remember that Ramadan isn’t about the food or the decorations—it’s about the people, the moments, the togetherness.”
The Stories That Live On
As the night deepened, Hina leaned against her sister’s shoulder, listening to more stories—of laughter-filled nights, of Taraweeh prayers under the stars, of the warmth of a community that once felt like family.
She realized then that these stories weren’t just memories. They were lessons, reminders of what truly made Ramadan beautiful. And one day, she, too, would tell them to someone younger, keeping the spirit of Ramadan alive, one story at a time.