“The Role Of Humor And Lightheartedness In Navigating Ramadan Fasting For South Asian Women.”
As Sania sat on the couch, staring at the clock, she let out a long, exaggerated sigh.
“Two minutes left,” her roommate Farah announced, dramatically clutching her stomach.
Sania groaned. “Why does the last two minutes of the fast feel like two hours?”
Their other roommate, Mehwish, who had been lying on the floor since Asr, opened one eye. “I swear, if we don’t break our fast on time, I might just evaporate.”
Sania snorted. “You’re just lying there, not burning any energy. What’s evaporating?”
Mehwish waved her hand weakly. “My will to live.”
The three of them burst into laughter, the hunger momentarily forgotten as the familiar pre-iftar delirium set in.
Childhood Fasting and Sibling Shenanigans
Growing up in Lahore, Ramadan in Sania’s home had always been a mix of spiritual discipline and absolute chaos. With three brothers, the holy month was less about quiet reflection and more about a Survivor-style test of patience.
Her eldest brother, Azhar, took pride in being the “fasting police,” reporting on anyone who even looked at food.
“I saw Hina in the kitchen,” he once accused their cousin. “She was touching a mango.”
Hina had huffed. “I was putting it in the fridge!”
Azhar had crossed his arms. “Suspicious behavior.”
Then there was her younger brother, Daniyal, who would dramatically lie on the sofa every afternoon. “I am perishing,” he would declare. “Feed me a samosa or I will not survive till Maghrib.”
Their mother, unimpressed, would hand him a glass of water. “Drink this and go recite some Quran.”
Roommate Ramadan: The Struggle is Real
Now, as an adult, Sania shared an apartment with two other South Asian women, and the struggles of fasting had taken on a different—but equally hilarious—form.
Like the sehri madness.
“Wake up,” Farah nudged Sania at 3:30 AM.
“No,” Sania mumbled from under the blanket.
Mehwish, sitting at the dining table, groggily chewing on toast, sighed. “If you don’t eat now, you’ll regret it later.”
Still half-asleep, Sania sat up, grabbed a date, and stuffed it in her mouth. “Happy?” she muttered.
“Not really,” Farah said, sipping chai. “But at least now we all suffer together.”
Then there was the great iftar debate that happened daily.
“What are we making for iftar?” Mehwish would ask.
Sania shrugged. “Something light.”
Farah gasped. “Excuse me? Light? After an entire day of starvation?”
“Fine,” Sania relented. “Something fried, cheesy, and unhealthy.”
“Much better.”
Despite all the struggle, the iftar ritual was their favorite part of the day. They would sit around the table, hands hovering over plates, listening to the Azaan with bated breath.
And as soon as the Azaan rang out, there was a collective sigh of relief.
Mehwish, stuffing a samosa in her mouth, muttered, “Alhamdulillah for deep-fried blessings.”
Laughter as a Coping Mechanism
Despite the exhaustion, hunger, and thirst, humor made everything easier.
During one particularly long summer fast, Sania had flopped onto the sofa and declared, “I think I just astral projected to iftar.”
Farah had nodded solemnly. “Tell the samosas I’m coming soon.”
Even the toughest moments—like when someone accidentally took a sip of water mid-fast—were met with laughter instead of judgment.
“You broke your fast!” Mehwish once gasped when Farah absentmindedly drank from a water bottle.
Farah had frozen, bottle in hand. “No, no, this was just wudu but from the inside.”
Sania had nearly choked from laughing.
Eid: The Roast Session of the Year
If Ramadan was a month of fasting, Eid was a day of eating and ruthless commentary.
“You gained weight,” Farah teased Sania one year.
“So did you!” Sania shot back.
“That’s not the point!” Farah gasped. “We’re talking about your weight gain.”
Sania rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Just pass me the sheer khurma.”
Mehwish, scrolling through old pictures, laughed. “Remember when we swore we’d eat healthy this Ramadan?”
All three stared at the table full of biryani, kebabs, halwa puri, and gulab jamun.
“Yeah… that was never gonna happen.”
Ramadan: A Test of Patience… and Comedy
Despite the hunger, exhaustion, and occasional sehri regrets, Ramadan was still Sania’s favorite time of the year.
It wasn’t just about fasting or prayer—it was about the shared experiences, the laughter that made everything easier, and the bonding that came with mutual suffering.
And as Mehwish dramatically clutched her stomach at 6 PM the next day, groaning, “I’m not going to make it,” Sania just smiled.
“Hang in there,” she said, tossing her a date. “Victory is near.”