Ramadan heralds the coming together of various fragments to become a whole

Deeply historic and overwhelmingly celebrated that is the month of Ramadan, it isn’t without its many attributes and cohesive properties that this Holy month is celebrated with unparalleled zeal and zest all around the world. But in this month, in a high-time for spiritual cleansing, it strikes me as astounding as to how a tradition rooted in a medieval past far gone can bring so many of us, from varying walks of life, together in sanguinity.

Yet what this coming together of people, and in turn of their hearts, means to me treads beyond the realms of mere togetherness: I am more awe-struck by how a carefully designed, self-sustaining mechanism operates in our world, one that silently moderates the nature around us, but almost always goes unnoticed if not for the thought-provoking time one has in the month of Ramadan.

Recently, while running a grocery errand for my mom, I stumbled upon an ensemble of people, who appeared to be mendicants, but purported very sated smiles—smiles that one wouldn’t necessarily associate with scorching summer temperatures and hunger and thirst. Befuddled, I approached them to inquire how, even in this month of ostensible starvation, they managed to adorn their faces with wide smiles amidst the summer heat that befell from the skies as a fierce force, blinding my vision as I leaped forward. As I launched into a conversation with these said people, one of the members picked up a piece of stone that lay nearby, and pointed toward a seeping crack that decorated it. I couldn’t immediately notice what he was trying to insinuate towards; I had asked him how he, even without any means for breaking his fast at dawn, managed to go without food and drink the whole day, and here he was, boasting a piece of pebble. Unrelated and perhaps superfluous as it initially seemed, the analogy was pertinent. I eventually noticed that the man was pointing toward an ant that was steadily making its way out of a crack, and as I did, the man began:

“So, you see, even this ant, that lives inside a random crack on a random pebble in a random corner of the world is striding out the crack with a piece of green leaf with itself.”

And that is exactly what the ant was doing—making an effort to chew on what little green leaf it had clawed onto.

“And your point is..?” I replied, partly cognizant of what his point had been, but still in search of assurance.

“It isn’t a mere coincidence that even an ant living in a pebble goes to bed sated and even glutted at times. And I am still a human being, and there is not a night when my creator doesn’t bestow upon me foods with which I can break my fast at dawn.”

And, as though he had been eavesdropping on our conversation, a man appeared out of nowhere, carrying with him a pouch full of dates, fruits, and fried items. As he accosted us, he handed that pouch over to the man I was speaking with, and then left—as though God had literally lent a helping-hand to the mendicant.

And fall into a reverie of brooding I did as I finally made my way toward the grocery store.

The world may seem arbitrarily placed, the nature even more so, but there is an entity that operates in a way that is mysterious but equally self-sustaining. A human kidney, for example, short of water supply in Ramadan, is less permeable and retains most of the water it gets supplied with; a fetus, progressing through its transition as a notochord and so on, grows in a way that has remained constant ever since the world’s inception, and will be constant forever and always. Yet everything has an underlying mechanism due to which it works in the way it does, and the month of Ramadan, for me, is a time to get closer to the entity that designs and executes so eloquently the said mechanisms that it renders me agape and in awe of his prowess.

Ramadan, for me, is a time for observing how our world works in a way that sustains life; every day, millions of cells in our bodies go through a remitting phase of uncontrolled cell division that, if allowed to carry on, can foment Cancer. But the specifically designed process of Apoptosis—or programmed cell death—among other processes, makes sure these cells are curbed. It is poignant, really, how our nature tries to sustain life to the best of its ability.

The word Ramadan, for me, evokes the coming together of exactly these seemingly disconnected streams of thoughts to become a whole. These thoughts have always been, and still are, central to the aspect that calls me toward my creator and humbles me in gratitude, so much so that I’m left trembling as I am right now.

That, in this month and time, is a significant realisation to ponder over.