I’m so proud of you. There’s definitely something about your Dada in you.
The words echoed through my head like it was a completely different language. I had no understanding of what one of my friends had just said to me.
She was impressed by the fact that, regardless of my fast opening in the middle of our prayer time, I still attend Jamat Khana (my sacred religious place) daily. She didn’t know I was trying to come closer to Dada (my grandpa) in the holy month of Ramadan, but she somehow knew exactly what to say to make me stumble on both my thoughts and feet.
In Ramadan of 2020, I walked downstairs at 4 a.m. to a table filled with food, along with my two grandparents — one sitting on each side. Nanu (my grandma) and I were the only ones in our house who fasted, but Dada would eat sehri (pre-dawn meal) with us every morning to give us company.
Five years later, things couldn’t be more different. I still wake up at 4 a.m., but I walk downstairs to an empty table where I don’t eat. I look at the photo of Dada and Nanu from his last Eid as I walk out the door to attend morning Jamat Khana — something that’s still not routine for me.
Nanu doesn’t fast anymore — she’s too old. Dada isn’t here anymore — he passed away in late 2020. Ramadan hasn’t been the same without Dada and with Nanu’s age fighting her every time she attempts to fast.
Losing the little things that once made Ramadan what it has always been gave me an outlet to dig deeper into my own faith. Dada was huge on attending Jamat Khana and reciting our prayers on time, Nanu is huge on fasting and living a life of generosity. I’ve been fasting and reciting my prayers for a while now, but this year, I decided to finally commit to both of their wishes: I fast for Nanu, and I attend Jamat Khana for Dada.
That wasn’t the only thing different about this Ramadan, though. It has taken me five Ramadans to realize how much my family fills the hole left in my life since Dada left.
There may be one less seat taken up on family vacations, Eid feasts, family iftars (meal after sunset) and morning sehris, but our table will forever remain full. It was never about the food on the table, but the hearts that beat together with a never-ending love for one another. The space Dada left behind is the same space my family has chosen to fill with love.
For the first time in years, this Ramadan has shown me the light my family brings into my life every day. Ramadan or not, a light shines through the cracks of a broken and grieving heart.
