“The Soundtrack Of Ramadan: Recalling The Specific Recitations, Songs, Or Sounds Associated With Past Ramadans.”

As the evening breeze drifted through her apartment window, Sajal closed her eyes and let the familiar echoes of Ramadan wash over her. The soft hum of Qari Abdul Basit’s recitation, the rhythmic beats of Maher Zain’s “Ya Nabi Salam Alayka”, and the distant memories of her mother’s whispered duas all blended into a melody of nostalgia.

Ramadan had always been an experience of the senses—the scent of iftar, the glow of lanterns, the touch of the prayer mat beneath her hands. But more than anything, it was the sounds that carried her back home.

The Echoes of Childhood Ramadan

Back in Lahore, her childhood Ramadans were filled with voices that shaped her faith. The loudspeaker from the nearby masjid, calling out the soulful adhan at Maghrib, was the most awaited sound of the day. The moment it rang through the air, she and her siblings would scramble to the table, waiting for their mother’s gentle reminder:

“Bismillah, beta.”

And then there were the nasheeds. Her older brother would play Zain Bhikha’s “Ramadan” on loop as they decorated the house with fairy lights. In the early mornings, her father preferred the more traditional “Tala Al Badru Alayna”, his voice occasionally joining in as he prepared suhoor.

Then, there was Ammi’s recitation of Surah Ar-Rahman, the one sound that defined the essence of Ramadan in their home.

Ramadan in a New Country: A Different Symphony

Now, in Toronto, the sounds were different. The azaan didn’t fill the streets—only her phone’s reminder buzzed when it was time to break her fast. The voices of her family were replaced by the hum of passing cars outside.

She tried to recreate the feeling. Before iftar, she would play Sami Yusuf’s “Hasbi Rabbi”, letting its soothing melody fill the quiet of her apartment. During late-night prayers, she listened to Mishary Rashid Alafasy’s recitations, his voice guiding her through the verses.

And when homesickness hit, she would close her eyes and listen to a recording of Ammi reciting Surah Ar-Rahman—the one thing that still made Ramadan feel like home.

A Sound That Stays Forever

That night, as Sajal prepared for iftar, she whispered to herself:

“Ramadan sounds different here, but the feeling is the same.”

She pressed play on Maher Zain’s “Ramadan”, letting the lyrics remind her of everything she held dear.

“You lift me up when I can’t see, Your heart is all I need…”

And as the azaan finally played from her phone, she smiled. The soundtrack of Ramadan would always be with her—no matter where she was.