“I think 1 tsp of chaat masala should be enough,” I thought to myself while trying but failing to replicate Mama’s famous chana chaat.
My first Ramadan being so far away from home, distant from all the scrumptious and mouthwatering iftar Mama would make. Far away from the banter with bhaiyya at iftar over who will take the last sandwich or pakora. Far away from Baba bringing home so much fruit for iftar just because melons are my favorite.
I try to push away these emotional thoughts before I get all teary from missing home.
I glance over at the clock and quickly run to my spot at the table to make dua just minutes before the azaan is called.
As I’m making dua, I remember our brothers and sisters in Gaza. How much they must be missing home. Those innocent children left with no parents, no siblings, some with no relatives, and others with no friends. How are they spending their Ramadan, I ask myself, and my heart breaks.
Oh, how I wish I could embrace those beautiful kids and make what their mothers would for iftar.
“Allahu Akbar Allahu Akbar…,” the azaan is called, and I open my fast with the usual dates and water, this time intentionally saying Alhamdulillah with all my heart like the people of Gaza have taught us.
I pray that everyone gets to open their fast in peace and with their favorite dishes.
