In the season of Ramadan, lessons in kindness

“I saw a picture of a baby… his lip was bleeding,” my youngster shares with me one night as we lie in bed and talk about school, friends and politics. It’s dark and I can’t see her face, but I hear the tremor in her voice. “Don’t see these things.” “But then, we will forget…”

Life goes on, I want to tell her, but people don’t forget. Injustice twists the gut into tight painful knots but sometimes there’s no choice but to grit one’s teeth and bear with it. And keep the faith. One day, hum sab ka time aayega.

In the meantime, small kindnesses go a long way. A Hindu teenager sharing in her friend’s “first-fast-for-the-season” excitement by trying to fast alongside her while her mum sends across ice cream for dessert that evening. Or a neighbour WhatsApp-ing us a black-and-white Eid greeting, a line drawing of a mosque that his late father, a talented artist, had drawn. Below the drawing of the mosque, a pair of hands are raised in prayer, his father’s Hindu hands perhaps, cupped to receive the outpouring of love from his Muslim friends.

I was recently invited to a children’s book club, to talk about Ramadan — the children were learning about different religious festivals. They listened to me wide-eyed as we talked of fasting being a means to cleanse one’s body and soul — like my eight-year old nephew said, “It’s the season to burn sins and calories” — while also empathising with those who have less than us and sharing what we have with them. We discussed the different kinds of fasts that most faiths offer their adherents and the children had lots of questions.

“The best time of the day is when you open your fast,” I tell them. “The first sip of water is simply amazing!”

A stout little boy on my left is looking ahead in a stoic manner. Trying to engage with him, I ask, “What do you think you would like to eat at the end of a day of fasting?” It’s nearing evening and dinner is coming up. “I’d like to eat the fridge,” he answers.

The session draws to an end, but not before a quiet boy with blue owl-rimmed glasses, raises his hand to ask a question. He lives in my neighbourhood and his parents are not known for their secular views. I wonder what he’s going to say.

“Miss, can we also fast? Even if we are not Muslim?”

I look him in the eye.

“Why not?” I answer. “But only if you promise not to eat the fridge.”

Sulaiman is the writer, most recently of, Who’s Afraid of a Giant Wheel?