It’s Ramadan, and Muslims are fasting, fighting off the temptations of earthly pleasures – food and drinks and, you know, the other stuff too!
Fasting is a core part of being a Muslim, a pillar of the religion and something most Muslims observe closely. It’s a private but also often very public show of devotion to their belief and their faith.
I’m of an age when fasting has more significance to me – as a reminder of my childhood and of growing up during Ramadan and Hari Raya Aidilfitri periods.
They’re not all happy memories. We were poor and Ramadan reminded us of that clearly. My parents were street hawkers selling food, so the fasting month was extra tough for them financially.
Hari Raya was even tougher. Once we were so broke all that we could afford for our Raya meal was fried mee hoon, made cheaply using broken mee hoon leftovers from the packages of regular mee hoon.
My father, known throughout the kampung for his temper, would get stressed because of the financial strain, and everybody would be on their best behaviour. But even then his wrath would sometimes spill over.
But don’t feel too sorry for me. Everybody in the kampung was poor. Every family struggled to put food on the table, not always with success. But being poor among the poor is way better than being poor among the rich, as is often the case today.
Heavenly broth from the mosque
Not all of the memories are bad. I remember the pleasure of collecting broth from the mosque in the afternoons. Living in a fishing kampung, we would have fresh prawns instead of beef in it. Nothing beats fresh prawns when it comes to flavouring rice broth!
The broth was made in a huge copper pot that had many scars from years of use. The caretaker, who had been doing it for decades, boiled the rice over coconut trunk firewood, and gave it to all who came. I haven’t tasted anything as nice since, and doubt I ever will.
My mother would also make nasi ulam, rice mixed with finely chopped shoots and salted fish. These days, nasi ulam looks like it’s been made with food colouring or perhaps even green dye. My mother’s version would have 17 different shoots and herbs in it!
She’d collect the shoots from shrubs and trees around our house, and even from the nearby hills for some of the rarer ones. The salted fish would be from local catches too.
Our family has been green and has had a low carbon footprint since forever, albeit out of necessity rather than choice. Now we have choices, though I’m still unconvinced it’s better than the old days.
Chip off the old block
Ice for Raya drinks would be bought from the local sundry shop. Nobody had a refrigerator then, and neither did the shop. Bok Cheng, the owner, would order big blocks of ice, delivered by lorry, and store them in wooden boxes covered with sawdust and gunny sacks.
The ice I bought would have been cut with a saw from the big block, coated with sawdust and wrapped in paper bags. Sometimes I’d pluck a few big yam fronds (without permission!) for more insulation, yet I would still be in a race, fighting cold fingers, to get the ice back home before it melted.
The ice would go into syrup drinks laced with sesame seeds, which always looked like frog eggs to me.
Hari Raya was a great occasion for the kids. Finally everyone could eat their fill and have some money to spend too. The festivity was good business as well, for someone hawking food at the roadside, especially after the slow days of the fasting month.
My parents would often work over Hari Raya. When I was big enough I’d help them occasionally, although on most occasions I’d go around the kampung looking for angpows, or spending 40 sen for a cinema ticket as a Hari Raya treat.
Waking up to gorge oneself
I used to wake up for sahur, the early meal before fasting starts, but I never enjoyed it. I could hardly eat anything, which made the whole exercise pointless. I don’t wake up for sahur any more in the belief that keeping the stomach shut down is a more effective way to endure a fast the whole day.
Somehow the idea of waking up to gorge yourself doesn’t quite square up with the whole point of fasting. If we’re to feel what the poor feel, then we must also accept that they don’t get to wake up early and stuff themselves in preparation for the coming day, nor do they get to stuff themselves when breaking fast.
My mother would celebrate Hari Raya, then immediately go into six more days of fasting. And throughout the year she’d probably be fasting for almost three months, something quite common among the elderly Muslims.
Resisting temptation
Recently, somebody on social media went viral when he posted that it’s OK for non-Muslims to eat and drink around him. This should have been taken for granted, but lately this matter has been so skewed and became such a sensitive matter.
Is he right? Of course he’s right. Fasting is not a ritual where you go through the motions and tick off boxes. Rather, it’s a personal effort to understand the meaning of sacrifice and how the less fortunate exist. Without these, you’re just going hungry and thirsty for nothing.
My mother said the whole point of resisting temptation is that there must be temptations in front of you to resist. If you remove all temptations and force everybody to be hungry and thirsty as well, then the blessing of fasting is lost. It becomes a mere ritual instead of an act of devotion.
Making a big show
Similarly with lavish meals during Ramadan. I used to work with a big company that provided a big budget for swanky iftar meals at five-star hotels. I’d attend those, but always felt uneasy, as the act of breaking fast had been made into a big showy and expensive event, which somehow didn’t feel right to me.
I’d sometimes visit the many Ramadan food stalls, and would buy so much food that I often ended up not finishing them, to my shame and embarrassment. This, too, isn’t what fasting is about. You celebrate fasting with Aidilfitri, and not by stuffing yourself every Ramadan evening.
There are some who even gain weight after a month of fasting! Well, if you are one, ask yourself if this is what happens to the poor after a month of their normal miserable and cruel life?
Obviously not. If so, can we claim to have learnt anything from the whole month of fasting? Remember, if you feel hungry and thirsty and tired during the fast – well that’s the whole point isn’t it?
Feed the poor
In many instances, nothing much about the blessings of Ramadan has been learnt by some people. For them, fasting has become something social and racial rather than spiritual. It’s morphed into showy piety and ostentatious spending.
Let’s bring back the true meaning of Ramadan. At the end of fasting, which is not a social event, let us all be tired and thinner and weaker, having lived how the less fortunate live. And when it’s over, let’s not celebrate it with expensive dinners at five-star hotels.
Perhaps it’s better to seek out some poor families and send them to the five-star treat instead. That would be in the spirit of Ramadan. - FMT
The views expressed are those of the writer and do not necessarily reflect those of MMKtT.
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