Lessons from a disorganised family on how to survive Eid
A celebration dictated by lunar visibility does not exactly encourage forward-planning
On the shelf of the dried food section at my local butcher’s sat two lonely date tins dented with pockmarks — casualties of the Ramadan rush. I’d been warned not to leave it until fasting began for this very reason. Reluctant to return home empty handed, I scoured the shop willing a secret stash to magically appear. An employee, clearly tired of being asked, pointed to a sign. The dates were sold out. Slinking back to the sparse shelf, only one box now remained — and not the brand my mother had asked for, which donates proceeds to charity.
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Sheepish, I presented her my meagre find. She was horrified. It was the first day of Ramadan and I’d already disappointed my mother.
In my defence, I come from a disorganised family. For us, the day before is considered advanced preparation. Some things are hard to unlearn and a celebration dictated by lunar visibility does not exactly encourage forward planning.
As a family, we have yet to experience an Eid where the lead-up has not involved at least one heated argument in a supermarket car park. Even when you adore your family, you can still get irritated by them. Reining in our collective chaos is no easy feat.
This Eid, the pressure is even higher. It’s our turn to host and our extended family could fill a theatre. I am, admittedly, one of the worst offenders when it comes to staying cool. My mother’s frantic energy still sends me into a sulk. She frets as if Shah Rukh Khan will be visiting, not relatives we have known our whole lives. The house will never be clean enough, no matter how many times she vacuums. I’m no help — whenever she makes last-minute revisions to her long shopping lists, I sigh dramatically like I’ve been tasked with saving the world and not just picking up more frozen peas.
But as it’s the season to better ourselves, this year I’m attempting to combat my inherited disorganisation and work on my patience and planning.
Instead of my usual lecture to my mother on food waste after she knowingly cooks too much yet again, I’ve prepared takeaway boxes for guests. And even though my father insists dietary intolerances are a conspiracy theory — as if desi food supersedes biology — I’ve taken it upon myself to buy the gluten-free flour and lactose substitutions for certain guests.
Of course, a smooth Eid gathering requires more than just good food.
I’ve learned you need a fun area for the kids, otherwise the entire night is spent chasing them around the house. A dedicated shoe station, instead of leaving them scattered at the front door causing at least one person to trip — usually me. Extra chairs should be waiting in the garage, since our family treats invitations as a suggestion rather than a headcount. There needs to be a clean-up corner with everything necessary to erase inevitable spills, so us kids are not later subjected to our mother mourning her pristine white kitchen. A garden spot for guests who need space to avoid awkward interactions. A well-lit photo nook ready for selfies to commemorate the celebration.
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Yet my most valuable tool is keeping my snark firmly locked inside my head and not handing it to a nosy relative whose only method of connection is two topics: weight and marriage. Because you can prepare the food, but the conversations — the landmines of the party — will always be beyond your control.
One loaded comment could spark a nuclear meltdown. I should know, seeing as I caused one three Eids ago during an ill-advised political discussion. I have since learned that busywork is key. Checking the oven. Cleaning up imaginary spills. Refilling the kettle. Anything to avoid escalation. Sometimes all it takes is a patronising smile.
The weeks before Eid can be stressful, but the day itself usually settles. No one will care what was forgotten unless it’s for teasing purposes. Any oversights will simply become lore to be told at future events.
The best part of the celebration is when my mother finally sits down, proudly watching everyone eat from plates loaded with hours of her hard work. And this Eid, I will have remembered to get the dates. Undented.
