This is my first ever post as a "blogger". I assumed that title myself since the queen was busy with some petty issue. Im sure she wont mind. :)
Bakra Eid : Eid-Al-Azha. .....As a child it was a day me and my siblings would wait for, VERY impatiently. The suplex performed on that goat, the sleeper hold in place, the shower of blood. It was adrenaline which drove us to parks far far away , to witness such awesome acts of the hero. The hero we call Qasai. We would run off in our new Eid clothes, our mama shouting at us to change. Running hard, we would laugh at ourselves. Our boisterousness. Our valor. Our courage in disregarding the boss. Even though, it was the heightened sense of love that let us off, we thought we had grown enough to tread on our own ways. I would watch countless goats being slaughtered, numerous bulls being conquered, but what i could not watch, was my own Bakra being brought down. That was a sight that i could not watch without feeling a tinge at my own throat. It was not unnatural. It was just human.
Those were the days when this Eid was BAKRA eid. We werent responsible for anything except our runny noses, and scarred knees. Oh I miss those days alright. The ultimate goal of the day was to watch the biggest bull, being wrestled down to the ground and get cut up. That thick red gush would scare the hell out of us, yet our excitement would reach the sky. How we'd wish that one of them got loose. What a sight would that be. We would be heroes in our class. Being witness to such a myth would definitely boost our " cool " rating. But that never happened. The shared stories were reduced to the normal take down, cutting up, hissing wind pipes, jerky legs, the huge skull and the skinning.
Over the years the EID has transformed. I , along with my brothers, started losing interest in the extravaganza that we so dearly indulged in. It was more of a drag. Every goat bled the same, and every shower spewing blood from a bulls neck threw the same red blood, almost the same distance far. It was barely exciting anymore. Slowly it became just a holiday. A holiday when the rest of the city is busy dirtying the roads with bony carcasses and bulging cow stomachs.
The reason for the above rant, is that, THIS time around, I wasnt at home for Eid. I was at duty. Being away for the first time, i hadnt imagined how different it would be and how weird Id actually feel. After prayers, not finding Usman at my right made me uneasy. Not finding my father threw off that nostalgia wagon. It picked up pace when I reached this empty, hollow and cold duty room. I had actually started to MISS Bakra Eid. I could not down this information, untill i had the urge to go see someones bull get slaughtered. Now people, this urge was not like the urge to pick the cherry off a cake, THIS was different. I had to go, otherwise i started feeling suffocated, out of element. I hadnt imagined this happening and mostly hadnt anticipated it. But I realized. Eid-Al-Azha, has its main theme, the slaughtering of animal in His Way, but a slight digression as well. It binds us. As a family. As a son, a brother, a sister or a friend. Its not eid if its without them. No matter how many goats you slaughter, or watch getting slaughtered. Its just not Eid if its without them.
I missed them today. I missed not listening to mama. Fighting with ushi. Beating up hasni. Loving sherry. Mostly, I missed helping my father, today.
Eid Mubarak you all.