Tuba Kazmi
Ramadan in Glasgow
Back home, Ramadan was never just about fasting—it was a month of togetherness. Suhoor (early morning time before dawn, and the meal eaten during this time to keep the fast) was always a shared experience with my sisters, whether we stayed up watching a series, studying, or simply waking each other up in turns. Iftari (the meal eaten to break the fast after the sun has set), on the other hand, was loud, chaotic, and beautiful. Despite the occasional fights over tasks, everyone contributed, knowing each other’s preferences so well that the table was always filled with dishes favoured by all.
Of course, there were the less glamorous parts too, like doing the dishes after Iftar. Being one of the younger ones, my youngest sister and I were always stuck with that task. And then there was the great post-iftar debate: I did the dishes; you make the tea. That first sip of chai was always the best feeling, and now I know it was because of the company I had.
Now, Ramadan feels quieter. Suhoor is a solo affair, and I have to be mindful of my flatmates, setting endless alarms out of fear I might oversleep and miss it. Iftars have become unpredictable. But as I wait for Suhoor and Iftar, I now wait for the call from home too, a normal for all of us. During the evenings, I sometimes manage to go to the Imambargah (a building or space used by Shia Muslims for religious gatherings), where the sense of community brings both joy and nostalgia, but other times, my schedule doesn’t allow it. I’ve had to break my fast on the go—once even in Tesco while running errands, and another time just before rushing off for my Residence Life Assistant shift. It’s a strange adjustment, but these new experiences have their novelty.
One of the biggest shifts has been figuring out where to pray. Back home, prayer was a natural part of the daily routine, seamlessly integrated into the rhythm of life. Here, I carry an extra scarf, Tasbih (Arabic word for dhikr- remembrance of God; a string of 99 beads used to perform tasbih) and Sajdagah (a Persian/Urdu word meaning place of prostration; it’s a small piece of clay/clay tablet used by Shia Muslims, which symbolizes earth that is recommended for prostration) with me, always on the lookout for a quiet place to pray. Thankfully, the university’s diversity means that almost every building has a prayer room—side note, I now know where to find them all if anyone ever needs directions!
Fasting in a country where life doesn’t slow down for Ramadan has been an adjustment. There’s no shift in schedules and no recognition of the energy dips that come with fasting. I’ve had to juggle my fasts with academic deadlines, social commitments, and work, often navigating the exhaustion and silence on my own. But in a way, this Ramadan has been making me more intentional about my time—it’s teaching me discipline in ways I hadn’t experienced before.
Eid: A Different Kind of Celebration
If Ramadan is for blessings and togetherness, Eid has always been the happy news, an occasion for celebrating a month spent reaping Allah’s blessings and enjoying those blessings with family and friends. In a family of four sisters, Eid was always filled with the extra excitement of choosing the perfect outfit, matching jewellery, bangles, and shoes and getting our mehndi done(art made with henna on hands). The day always started with prayers, getting ready and then greeting family and friends.
My favourite moments have been the get-togethers with aunts, uncles and cousins, hosting with dozens of dishes, the sound of happy banters, and of course, endless photos; the perfect Desi Met Gala. One of my favourite traditions was making Sheer Khurma (a sweet vermicelli pudding; vermicelli, nuts and sugar cooked in milk) with my mother—a ritual that marked the start of our Eid morning.
This year, things will be different. Instead of family gatherings, I’ll be busy with a volunteer role on Eid, which I think will be a good thing. Keeping occupied might help me focus on what I have rather than what I’m missing. But I will definitely be cooking Sheer Khurma to continue the tradition.
Despite the changes, this Ramadan has been a reminder that faith isn’t bound by place—it’s something you carry with you. While I miss home, I’m also finding new ways to make this month meaningful. It’s not the same, but in its own way, it’s still special.