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Remembering My Childhood Memories Of Eid
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Remembering My Childhood Memories Of Eid

Childhood memories are the best memories; they bring the sweetest happiness during the saddest moments of one’s life

Post by on Sunday, May 1, 2022

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Lately, while offering Taraweeh prayer at Jamia Masjid, the kids outside the premises distracted the Imam; as they were frolicking and screaming louder and louder. Since children have their own realm which the Imam of the Masjid did not twig and went on them, infuriated and annoyed but hardly had he the sentient to get familiar with their psychology, for it doesn’t matter for chips off old block whether people send them bucket of words with malice or affection, for they scarcely care what pleases the other and do the actions and deeds that glee them the most.  Eyeing, the incensed Imam made me contemplate and recall how Prophet Mohammad (SAW) would treat and teach kids—with affection and love for he (SAW) knew the progenies must be dealt with soft hands; as they are the future of cosmos. I also reminisce, how the poet of east would treat children the traces of which can be found while reading his poetry.


Once we were up with the prayers, I observed the same children playing with the loam and grit with the charming expressions which made me recall my days when I was a child like them , who would wait for the Eid to come and count days and ask the elders,” Now, how many days are left for Eid?” Alas! Gone are the days, when I like them would crave for the Eid to come and get Eidi.  The kids who were infuriating and distracting for the Imam goaded me to tell the readers, my childhood and my Eid celebration, so here it is:   


It would bring a contour of melancholia in me; the moment Sundown would become visible and my face would turn in utter gloom---that day my celebration would touch all the heights. My friends used to console me while saying there are two more days left; partially, these words were ample to usher me towards happiness. Those days were totally different than the days we are in. We were from well to do family, Alhamdulillah, so buying new clothes and shoes were not a jubilance or any sort of excitement for me. But, I do recollect by heart that day I bought a new lighting pair of shoes. Shoes, which was in trend those days, and I won't be mistaken in saying, it was in possession of a few children then, we bought it from Goni-Khan market at Srinagar. Although, I don't exactly remember, what we were to buy that day but, I am pretty sure not a pair shoes for me.


When we entered a small and the busiest market of Srinagar; my two aunts stepped into a small decorated shop, where a small kid who was sitting in a couch trying a new lighting pair of shoes— that had a sole of thick red glasses and  upper with white and some black leather pieces at its toe puff and stiffener. The moment that shoes caught my eye, I started demanding for the same without caring whether my aunts had carried enough money or not. After some hiccups I was handed a new pair of lighting shoes, and believe me, I was not only overjoyed but in complete euphoria. I had made my mind the moment I received it, to brag it before my friends with over- exaggeration, you may presume, a writer’s stuff I was born with.


I was the only who had privilege to get off from the bed very late, offering Salah was mandatory, in either cases, whether I would get early or late. The day would start with Lipton tea and sweet cookies, my maternal uncle would wait for me, because he knew I was very fond of offering Eid-prayers at Jinab Sahab Soura. He had that beautiful hero- cycle which would transport us to Anchar Soura. The cycle had small seat on the top base rod, just before the saddle which Mamu had installed and put up for me only. Mamu, and I would leave house half an hour before, traveling on that hero-cycle would always be pleasing and exploring; we would often take a route from a small highly populated lane, I still remember, they would call it ‘ Kill-khan lane', from there seeing newly built bungalows, some mud houses and others that were under construction then and comparing their lives was my focal point during the course of our journey, besides this I would question Mamu on different subjects and  objects which used to infuriate him at times--- an annoying kid and a complete spoilt.


Mamu was very particular about paid parking for his cycle as for him it was the greatest asset he possessed. I would ask him, “Papa, what’s the point in having it a paid parking when it has seen its better days.” He would smile and say, “You don’t know it’s worth and what it means to me.” And I would hardly understand what his philosophy meant.


On stepping into the  masjid I would hear the sermons, those Sermons, I was never interested in but, Mamu was very keen about it, he would religiously hear the preaching and I was keeping myself busy in counting the lamps and jars the Masjid  had. I once tugged Mamu before all the people in Masjid and asked him, “Papa can't we bring these Jars home, as they would suit there than here." He smiled and asked me to keep quiet.


After prayers, we would retire from Masjid. On the way he would buy me different toys particularly that water pistol, I was very fond of. We would take lunch at around noon and I in the meanwhile would collect Eidi from all the members of my family including Nani, soon after taking lunch, I  would rush to play with friends and return back after evening. I used to spend all my ‘Eidi' on fire crackers and juices that I used to buy from the nearby shop. My Nani and my aunts especially the last one would pay many visits to the public park, to see whether I was there or have gone somewhere else.


When I recall those moments, it brings in me the sense of responsibility which I owe to my maternal family and while jotting down this piece I became sentimental and emotional. Childhood memories are the best memories; they bring the sweetest happiness during the saddest moments of one’s life. . So, today I’m trying to pay my gratitude while pen locking these words to let the world know how much they have contributed in my life ;so, let I immortalize them this way; since written words are more powerful than the spoken ones .



(The author is weekly columnist and writes Sunday Special for the Rising Kashmir. Feedback: mufti.jameel97@gmail.com)

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