The festival of Eid has always held significance in my life. Unlike many of my Muslim colleagues and friends, I never fasted nor did I perform any of the associated rituals. I knew a few non-Muslim friends who used to fast for a few days out of respect for Islam. Indian politicians, eager to secure the Muslim minority vote, often host grand iftar gatherings, donning traditional Muslim caps and scarves. These politicians make a point to invite photographers, camera crews, and journalists to these events. It often seems as though they are more focused on building an image as a “messiah” for Muslims than on truly understanding the significance of fasting and the core teachings of Islam. That is why I have never felt the need to imitate devout Muslims when it comes to their rituals. I firmly believe that the message of Islam should be followed both in letter and in spirit. Any display of religiosity without a true understanding of its deeper meaning is nothing more than hypocrisy.
History bears witness to the fact that Islam has contributed several positive changes throughout human history, and I firmly believe that it still offers valuable lessons to the world. My conviction stems from both my readings on Islam and my close association with many Muslim friends. I have not only read the Holy Quran but have also lived among Muslims for years. Based on my studies and personal experiences, I can confidently say that much of the propaganda against Islam and Muslims is entirely baseless and politically motivated. However, that is not the focus here. My intention is to share my experience with Eid.
During my stay in the Sabzi Bagh area of Patna, I had the opportunity to observe and participate in the Eid festival. Sabzi Bagh is a densely populated area on the banks of the river Ganga, about half a mile east of the historic Gandhi Maidan. This large ground, famous for hosting powerful speeches from leaders like Jayaprakash Narayan to Lalu Prasad Yadav—speeches that have shaken the foundations of Indian politics—is considered the “lung” of Patna, which grows more congested by the day. The Sabzi Bagh area has both Hindu and Muslim populations, but the specific location of the office of Qaumi Tanzeem, one of Bihar’s leading newspapers, is predominantly inhabited by Muslims. It was during my first visit to Patna and the office of the Qaumi Tanzeem that I saw Sabzi Bagh.
My birthplace is Raxaul, located on the India-Nepal border in the East Champaran district of Bihar. After passing my matriculation, albeit with a third division, my family showed little interest in supporting my further education. My elder brother entered into a partnership with one of his Marwari friends to open a coal shop and asked me to manage it on his behalf. I would open the shop in the morning and stay there until evening, selling coal. However, my passion for reading did not fade, even though I was cut off from formal education. I spent my free time at the shop reading newspapers and magazines. During that period, I learned Urdu with the help of a Maulvi from Mau (Uttar Pradesh), who worked as a muezzin at an Islampur mosque across the Sariswa River in Raxaul. He used to visit my locality to teach the Quran to Muslim students, and he kindly accepted my request to teach me Urdu alongside them. Later, my proficiency in Urdu improved with the guidance of other teachers, notably Amin Saheb from Islampur and Maulana Nasrullah, who ran a chicken shop on Post Office Road in Raxaul.
I quickly learned Urdu and gradually began reading Urdu newspapers. At the time, my knowledge of politics was limited, and my interests were mostly focused on sports. A few months into reading these papers, I felt a strong urge as a writer to express myself. I wrote a short piece on cricket in Urdu and sent it to Qaumi Tanzeem for publication. To my delight, the newspaper not only published my article but also included my picture, which filled me with joy. This marked the beginning of my connection with Qaumi Tanzeem—first as a reader, and then as a writer.
In addition to submitting articles, mostly about sports, I worked as a correspondent for the Urdu daily for a long time, covering Raxaul and its surrounding areas. As I ventured deeper into the field of writing, I realized that my knowledge was limited. In my pursuit of learning, I re-enrolled in formal education. I passed my intermediate exams and decided to move to Patna to pursue a degree in English, hoping to improve my English skills and become a better journalist. One of my seniors convinced me that to excel as a journalist, even in Urdu media, mastering English was essential.
Although I was able to secure admission at A.N. College, Patna, in English Honors, the biggest challenge I faced was finding accommodation. The college had no hostel, and I did not have the financial means to pay for room rent. It was during this difficult time that I sought help from the editors of Qaumi Tanzeem. Ashraf Fareed and the late Ajmal Fareed, the editors of the newspaper, were kind enough to allow me to share a room on the office premises without charging rent. I lived in that room for four years, sharing it with Shabbir Bhai, the office peon. Our room was also the dumping zone for the leftover paper. In our room, scrap paper was also stored. During the newspaper printing process, some paper would be left over from the paper rolls, which would be kept in our room for a month and then sold at the end of the month. At the beginning of the month, a bundle would arrive, and by the end of the month, a large part of the room would be filled with a mountain of paper. Many times, we feared that the pile of paper might fall on us. It was during my stay in Sabzi Bagh that I had the opportunity to participate in Eid celebrations.
At the time, I worked at the Qaumi Tanzeem office. My responsibilities included translating English stories into Hindi, proofreading, and even attending press conferences. Since I was pursuing my graduation alongside working, I used to help out in the office whenever I had free time. I often found myself looking forward to iftar more eagerly than my Muslim colleagues. The aroma of pakoras, the fragrance of ripe fruits, and the vivid redness of Rooh-Afza would make my mouth water. As a bachelor living on my own and cooking my own meals, the prospect of enjoying delicious food always excited me. When the staff sat down to break their fast, I was invited to join them, just like any other rozedar. I noticed that the editors and other staff members would often insist that I eat more, treating me with extra warmth and hospitality.
During iftar, I never felt for a moment that I was an outsider. After iftar, when the believers would offer namaz, I would return to the office. No one ever insisted that I join them for prayer, nor did they make any comments about my religious identity. In fact, my editors and other staff members would ask if I had performed pooja during Hindu festivals. However, as I grew older, my interest in rituals gradually faded. When I told them I hadn’t performed any, they would suggest that I should have. I realized that while my Muslim colleagues were deeply connected to their faith, they also respected the beliefs of others. Years later, when I read the Holy Quran, I discovered that, contrary to widespread propaganda, it strongly supports tolerance, pluralism, and harmony. Consider these words from the Quran: “For you is your religion, and for me is my religion”.
As Eid approached, the market’s hustle and bustle intensified. The shops in Sabzi Bagh, illuminated by countless bulbs, stayed open late into the night. New stalls popped up on the footpaths, making it hard for pedestrians to navigate. Various tea stalls emerged, and shops selling delicious dates were everywhere. Golden, fried sewai were stacked in baskets for sale. Shops selling kurtas and perfumes also opened. Late into the night and into the early morning, Sabzi Bagh stayed alive. The area was decorated like a bride, and every night felt like Diwali. In the evenings, I would roam the alleys of Sabzi Bagh, sipping tea and chatting with friends. One of my favourite spots was the tea stall in front of the Bankipur post office. Unlike the night, the day had a deserted look until noon. The food-selling hotels would hang curtains in front of their shops, and behind them, those who did not fast would sit and eat. The curtain was put up as a mark of respect for those who were fasting.
Since charity holds a significant place in Islam, many needy, destitute, and poor people would come to Sabzi Bagh during the holy month of Ramadan, hoping to receive some financial assistance. At the Qaumi Tanzeem office, an elderly blind man used to visit and stay for a few days during Ramadan. He would beg for money in the evenings. On several occasions, I saw him sitting on one of the porches, carefully counting his coins. By the end of the month, when he prepared to return home, he had collected a substantial amount in charity.
The day before Eid, the staff members would receive Eidi, a small monetary gift from the late editor, Ajmal Farid. No one knew exactly how much anyone else received. Before leaving the office, everyone would meet ‘Jammu’ Sir, as Ajmal Farid was affectionately called, in his chamber. He would discreetly take some money from his pocket, place it into the recipient’s pocket, embrace them, and wish them “Eid Mubarak.” I, too, eagerly awaited my turn. Ajmal Farid would slip a few hundred-rupee notes into my pocket and hug me, repeating, “Eid Mubarak.” Before I left his chamber, he would invite me to his home for food, as his house was located close to the office.
My preparation for Eid mostly involved washing my clothes and getting them ironed. I would also try to stay fresh for the occasion. On Eid day, I didn’t miss the opportunity to visit my editor’s house. There, we would be treated to a variety of delicious foods, many of which I had never tasted before. They gave me special attention, urging me to eat more and proudly introducing me to other guests, saying I was very good at Urdu.
In the evening, I was invited by the late Khursheed Hashmi to his house near Rukanpura, close to Rajapul in Panta. Khursheed Hashmi was from Gaya and worked as the senior-most journalist at Qaumi Tanzeem. He was responsible for deciding the main stories for the front page of the daily. A PhD in Urdu literature, Hashmi was a journalist with a clear perspective. While many journalists at Qaumi Tanzeem imitated the leading Hindi newspapers, he would privately express his frustration to me, saying that a good journalist develops their own perspective. He often remarked that what might be a top story for a leading newspaper doesn’t necessarily have to be a leading story for us. He emphasized that a journalist should never be swayed by the big media houses and should instead trust their own research and observations.
Khursheed Saheb was one of the best journalists I have ever met. Unfortunately, it’s a sad reality in the media industry that hundreds of dedicated journalists like Khursheed Hashmi, working for smaller media houses, are often underpaid and their contributions remain unrecognized. During my time at Qaumi Tanzeem, I grew close to him. He would often visit my room to have tea that I made. When he returned home, I would walk with him to Gandhi Maidan after 10 p.m., from where he would hire an auto to his place. Almost every day, I accompanied him to Gandhi Maidan to see him off, which gave me the opportunity to discuss pressing issues with him.
On the day of Eid, he used to wait for me, and we would take our meals together in the evening. He lived in a one-room flat in Rukanpura, and I would spend hours sitting with his family, talking. I stayed in Patna for several years before leaving for Delhi to pursue higher education. Each year, I made it a point to visit his house on Eid. I remember the day I was leaving Patna—he came to see me off at Gandhi Maidan bus station. Since then, whenever I visited Patna, I never missed an opportunity to meet Khursheed Saheb and visit the Qaumi Tanzeem office. Even today, some residents of Sabzi Bagh recognize me and greet me warmly. However, I heard the heartbreaking news that Khursheed Saheb passed away during the COVID-19 pandemic, leaving behind his family without any source of income. Since Urdu newspapers rarely offer social security to their staff, his family had to vacate their house in Patna and return to their hometown. His son, an engineer, has been trying to find a job.
Whenever Eid approaches, I reflect on my time at Qaumi Tanzeem. My experience of Eid is a testament to the inclusive nature of festivals in our society, celebrated by all, regardless of religious affiliation. However, I am deeply concerned about a segment of hardliners attempting to divide festivals along religious lines and communalize public religious spaces. Religious faith is a personal matter, while the celebration of festivals and the organization of religious events are social activities that thrive on the equal participation of all sections of society. These cherished memories of Sabzi Bagh are engraved in my heart and mind. When I reflect on them, I see the absurdity of the divisive politics surrounding festivals and the vilification of minority communities.
(The author holds a PhD in Modern History from the Centre for Historical Studies, Jawaharlal Nehru University. His book on Muslim Personal Law is forthcoming. Email:debatingissues@gmail.com