Eid is always the most joyous occasion in our home, and this year was no exception. We had the usual crowd of people in and out, and the tables were laid outside on the balcony so that everyone could eat with the beautiful sea view as their entertainment. The inside tables were laden with everything pretty, delectable and tempting and the drink jugs were always brimming. The kids were running about, their laughter audible even when you couldn't see them and bits of gift wrap from their gifts (torn open in barely contained excitement) would invariably flit about when you least expected them to - like tufts of confetti. The inside jokes and easy banter which fall together every time my family convenes wafted around like old friends and the weather held up, smiling along with us.
It was, however, a day tinged with sadness. It was the first time that such an integral member of our clan wasn't around. I'm pretty sure that everyone felt it - but what saddened me most, is that nobody wanted to talk about it.
It's difficult to float around, all smiles and helpful hands, and laugh and joke and carry on as if the day is everything you want it to be - when really, it's not. I wasn't even going to apply henna this year, because it didn't feel like a cause for celebration, even though it undoubtedly is. My Grandmother used to apply henna for me when I was a little girl...I remember how she would insist I sit still and meticulously apply the brownish paste to my finger nails, and then plant me in front of the television for as long as I would endure so that the colour would catch, and when I became too antsy and threatened rebellion, she would quickly whisk me off to wash it all off and then admire the red colour which bloomed out. Back then, it never really piqued my interest, but I remember my Grandmother used to love it. When I was younger, I never remembered a time when I ever saw her natural nail colour, it was always a scarlet red, the shading nearly always the exact same - it was only in the past few years, when her health deteriorated very badly, that the doctors ordered her not to apply the henna, as they needed to see her nail colour during check-ups...but you know, strangely enough, my Grandmother passed away with her gorgeous scarlet nails.
Even though I didn't really feel like doing it, I did eventually apply the henna, at 1:30am on Eid morning, after I had wrapped all the Eid gifts up and sorted out everything that needed to be done. I actually did it for Ordinary Guy - he was quite insistent, and I thought I'd do something to please him, seeing as I'm his main stress-point as of late. He hasn't seen it yet though...I'm not sure that he will either, before it fades away.
Every Eid, I'd dress, and traipse downstairs for her gasp of surprise and praise - my Grandmother loved all things beautiful, and she especially loved her clothes. This Eid, on went my dress, I slipped on my heels, slid on my jewellery and lined my eyes dark with kohl, and then sat on the edge of my bed wondering what to do with myself. There was no Grandmother to give me the final verdict. During the course of the day, everyone admired the lovely dress and my dark, red patterned hand and I smiled and thanked them politely. Except, I still didn't feel as beautiful...I just felt sort of hollow inside.
Today, another guest said to her companion, "I just love this child, she's grown into such a lovely young lady" and I smiled bashfully and thanked her, and her companion replied, "She was brought up partly by Grandmother, so you shouldn't be surprised." That moment, right there, that compliment, made me truly smile inside - not for what it said about me, but because of what it said about my Grandmother. It made me want to cry too. Of course, I didn't...though I did wish, that there was someone around to give me one of those everything's-going-to-be-ok kind of hugs. Except, there wasn't.
It was, however, a day tinged with sadness. It was the first time that such an integral member of our clan wasn't around. I'm pretty sure that everyone felt it - but what saddened me most, is that nobody wanted to talk about it.
It's difficult to float around, all smiles and helpful hands, and laugh and joke and carry on as if the day is everything you want it to be - when really, it's not. I wasn't even going to apply henna this year, because it didn't feel like a cause for celebration, even though it undoubtedly is. My Grandmother used to apply henna for me when I was a little girl...I remember how she would insist I sit still and meticulously apply the brownish paste to my finger nails, and then plant me in front of the television for as long as I would endure so that the colour would catch, and when I became too antsy and threatened rebellion, she would quickly whisk me off to wash it all off and then admire the red colour which bloomed out. Back then, it never really piqued my interest, but I remember my Grandmother used to love it. When I was younger, I never remembered a time when I ever saw her natural nail colour, it was always a scarlet red, the shading nearly always the exact same - it was only in the past few years, when her health deteriorated very badly, that the doctors ordered her not to apply the henna, as they needed to see her nail colour during check-ups...but you know, strangely enough, my Grandmother passed away with her gorgeous scarlet nails.
Even though I didn't really feel like doing it, I did eventually apply the henna, at 1:30am on Eid morning, after I had wrapped all the Eid gifts up and sorted out everything that needed to be done. I actually did it for Ordinary Guy - he was quite insistent, and I thought I'd do something to please him, seeing as I'm his main stress-point as of late. He hasn't seen it yet though...I'm not sure that he will either, before it fades away.Every Eid, I'd dress, and traipse downstairs for her gasp of surprise and praise - my Grandmother loved all things beautiful, and she especially loved her clothes. This Eid, on went my dress, I slipped on my heels, slid on my jewellery and lined my eyes dark with kohl, and then sat on the edge of my bed wondering what to do with myself. There was no Grandmother to give me the final verdict. During the course of the day, everyone admired the lovely dress and my dark, red patterned hand and I smiled and thanked them politely. Except, I still didn't feel as beautiful...I just felt sort of hollow inside.
Today, another guest said to her companion, "I just love this child, she's grown into such a lovely young lady" and I smiled bashfully and thanked her, and her companion replied, "She was brought up partly by Grandmother, so you shouldn't be surprised." That moment, right there, that compliment, made me truly smile inside - not for what it said about me, but because of what it said about my Grandmother. It made me want to cry too. Of course, I didn't...though I did wish, that there was someone around to give me one of those everything's-going-to-be-ok kind of hugs. Except, there wasn't.
My Grandmother was a Lady
- the kind that's very rare.
I never paid attention,
I never really cared.
But now I'm glad she tried her best,
To pass on to me that flair.
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