It’s the third year in a row this year. Food shoots chase me during this month like rizq chases a believer. The brief said a clean, minimal look. A single date against a white background would’ve been any hipster’s response.
Around sunset, the feeling is missing. The customary excitement which lodges itself in the throat and makes your voice quiver like a kid’s on the last day of school before summer break isn’t there.
Summer, unusually dry this year, hung around shirt collars. Pulling the neck facing the Qibla further down. Post Ish’a, post Taraweeh. Wit’r prayers, and Surah Rahman. Right on the cue, the sound of rainfall begins to float into the mosque.
“And which of your Lord’s blessings will you deny?”
In the shiver which ran through me, in the lump which choked my throat, in the haze which blurred my eyes. The presence was undeniable. The month of blessings, one of the biggest blessings in itself, was here.
I’ll try making it minimal this year. Not like a single date (no pun). More like a fattoush on a clean white background, maybe.