I thought you were my friends!

 "I can't stand him. He's a liar."

"You're tired of him? What about me?  I have to work with him everyday."

The now famous Sarkozy-Obama exchange about their friend Netanyahu is quite amusing for many, me included. 

Who hasn't complained about a friend or colleague before? The sensitivity that we have upon hearing that someone has been talking about is amazing given how much we shit-talk ourselves. Not that I am crying for Netanyahu.

When we hear things about ourselves in that way, it is because we have stumbled into a private conversation we were not meant to hear. Which is exactly what Sarkozy and Obama thought they were having. A few issues I want to note:

1) As public figures can they expect privacy?

They are human and even though they are politicians, they are entitled to privacy. But thinking you can have privacy in a room full of journalists moments before they are supposed to be listening in on your conversation is maybe kind of ... stupid.

2) As a journalist, do you report this or not?

The journalists in the room had class and decided it was an off the record conversation - in part as a way to keep those that organized the event out of trouble. Isn't that sweet? But then someone broke the story anyway.

Dan Israel, an Arret Sur Images writer that broke the story eventually forcing other journalists to confirm what was heard.

3) Obama deals with Netanyahu everyday?

Isn't your economy tanking? Why are you spending so much time thwarting the Palestinian cause again? Just get caller ID Barack - it's life changing.  

4) How hilarious is this?

Very. And on so many levels (please do comment and expand on why and how it's funny for for you).

I currently have an article to write, so  I must be torn away from this subject that could provide me with endless hours of entertainment.

I am suffering Eid withdrawal

Today is my first Eid-ul-Adha in Vancouver. It is my fourth year missing Muslim holidays with my family. When I realized this earlier today, I was quite saddened as I also realized that I am really not quite sure when my next Eid with them will be. So, I thought I would take some time to reflect and remember the experience of Eid that my family consciously created for me.

Growing up, I always thought of Eid-ul-Adha as the "second" Eid, both chronologically and in importance. It is in fact the more religiously significant Eid, but I figured since I didn't get any Eidee (cash/money/bling) it couldn't possibly be that important.

In retrospect, and with a deep ache in my heart today, I realize beyond the cash value of the day, the ritual of family togetherness is what made it beautiful.

Eid can be equated to a pretty sweet open house. My paternal grandmother lived with us for many years and as a result our house was the epicentre of Eid for my father's family. The house needed to be scrubbed clean by me and my sister (she told me she missed my "slavery" earlier today), mom would magically create sweet and savoury delights, while dad would simply put on his new sherwani and topi (a fez if he was getting really fancy) and stay out of our way.

My family on what must be Eid since
me and my sister have matching outfits

After Eid prayers in the morning, family would slowly start filling the house. First the Markham peeps, then a sprinkle of Scarborough, followed by some from Stouffville, and finally after crossing the sea of Toronto traffic the Mississauga crew would arrive. You never really knew who would show up when and there were always pleasant surprises of family friends and neighbours that would drop by.

Everyone would gush about each other's outfits ("the embroidery is truly amazing on that suit") and of course something about the inevitable fashion faux pas or two ("did she not realize only wide-leg shalwars are in this season?"). I never really understood what was in fashion or not in Karachi since I could barely keep up with the Toronto fashion scene. This frustrated my mother deeply as I always told her "it's fine, I'll wear whatever" until I saw my sister's carefully selected sparkling outfit. I would then proceed to have a mini-fit over my kameez not fitting properly or not having the perfect matching jewelry. Luckily, with the help of my mother and sister, it all came together in the end.

The conversation between extended family members was always too polite or too personal depending on who you were talking to. Some aunties inquired about my weight, which I never really knew how to feel about. I was always tempted to shoot the question back but thought my mother would kill me, since that would reflect badly on her rather than me (the associative nature of South Asian insults is tiring - can't I just be associated with myself if I am being rude rather than tarnishing my family's reputation?). Others discussed school with me, some with a razor-sharp memory of what I was studying and others simply lamenting it was a waste since I was clearly intelligent and should have done something useful like medical school (I wonder what they say about me now that I am in journalism school!).

Me and my dad, Eid-ul-Adha 2007

The food we ate was filled with love as my mother would try to make out favourite dishes, while also pleasing the crowd with things she was known for. The chai served was always taken appreciatively. No matter how basic (or offensive) the conversation with family, it was rooted in an attempt to connect. By the end of the afternoon, we were all exhausted. Folks would leave and we would have some down time before heading out to the party being hosted by another family member that evening.

The first Eid after my grandmother died was tough. There was a distinct void felt, but everyone still came over that year attempting to fill it for one another. That was the first time I began to realize the value of this particular day and the subtle ways family ensured this was a special day.

As a 1.5 generation Pakistani-Canadian, my family created a distinct experience for Eid. It couldn't have been easy. There are no "eid lights" or greeting cards sold. Sure, schools and workplaces accommodated for us to have the day off but life didn't stop for anyone else. There were always a few people missing writing an exam or meeting with a client. I would love to be in a Muslim country for Eid to truly experience what the holiday felt like for my parents growing up.

I have all my mostly sweet, sometimes sour Eid memories but I feel like I never tried to capture them because I never imagined a day I would be without the excitement of Eid.

My two-year old niece will get to experience all the excitement of Eid as she attaches her own meaning to it, renewing what it means to all of us. I hope I can be there next year to eat well, laugh along and take some photos to remember it all.

Eid Mubarak!