Roja : Day of Reflection, Family, and Faith.
May 1st and Roja: A Day of Reflection, Family, and Faith
The first of May dawned quietly in our small Pakistani household. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of jasmine from the garden. The month of Ramadan was in full swing, and the rhythm of our days was dictated by the spiritual discipline of fasting and the anticipation of Iftar. But this year, May 1st—Labour Day—added a unique layer to our routine. It was a day off for my father, a schoolteacher, and my elder brother, who worked at a local bank. For us, it was a rare opportunity to spend the entire day together as a family, blending the solemnity of Roja with the quiet celebration of Labour Day.
The Morning: A Slow Start
The day began with the pre-dawn meal, Sehri. My mother, the heart of our home, had woken up an hour earlier to prepare the meal. The sound of her soft footsteps and the clinking of pots and pans were my alarm clock. By 3:30 a.m., the entire family was gathered around the dining table. The spread was simple yet comforting: parathas, boiled eggs, yogurt, and a steaming pot of chai.
My father, ever the storyteller, took the opportunity to remind us of the significance of both Labour Day and Ramadan. “Labour Day is about honoring the hard work of people,” he said, “and Ramadan is about honoring the hard work of the soul.” His words lingered in the air as we ate in silence, the only sound being the occasional chirping of birds outside.
After Sehri, we performed the Fajr prayer together. There was something deeply unifying about standing shoulder to shoulder, reciting the same verses, and bowing in unison. It was a reminder that, despite our individual struggles, we were all part of something greater.
The Afternoon: A Time for Reflection
By mid-morning, the house was quiet. My father and brother had retreated to the living room to read the newspaper, while my mother and I busied ourselves with household chores. Labour Day meant no work or school, but it didn’t mean a break from the responsibilities of home.
As I helped my mother clean the kitchen, we talked about the challenges of fasting. “Roja isn’t just about staying hungry,” she said, wiping the counter. “It’s about understanding the hunger of those who don’t have the luxury of Iftar.” Her words struck a chord with me. In a world where so many struggled to make ends meet, fasting was a humbling reminder of our privilege.
Later, I sat by the window with a book, occasionally glancing at the clock. The hours seemed to stretch endlessly, but there was a strange comfort in the monotony. The slow pace of the day allowed me to reflect on my own life—my goals, my shortcomings, and the blessings I often took for granted.
The Evening: Preparing for Iftar
As the sun began to dip lower in the sky, the house came alive with activity. Iftar preparation was a family affair, and everyone had a role to play. My mother took charge of the main dishes—biryani, samosas, and pakoras—while my father and brother set the table. My task was to prepare the fruit chaat and dates, a staple of every Iftar meal.
The kitchen was a symphony of sounds and smells. The sizzle of frying samosas, the aroma of spices, and the laughter of my family filled the air. Even the cat, usually aloof, seemed to sense the excitement and wandered in, hoping for a scrap of food.
Labour Day added an extra layer of joy to the evening. My father, who was usually exhausted after a long day of work, was relaxed and cheerful. He even joked about how fasting was the ultimate form of labour. “If you can survive a day without food and water,” he said, “you can survive anything.”
Iftar: A Feast of Togetherness
When the call to prayer echoed from the nearby mosque, we gathered around the table. The spread was lavish, a testament to my mother’s culinary skills. We broke our fast with dates and water, following the tradition of the Prophet Muhammad (PBUH). The first bite of food after a long day of fasting was always a moment of pure gratitude.
As we ate, the conversation flowed freely. My brother shared stories from his workplace, my father talked about his students, and my mother reminded us to save room for dessert. It was a rare moment of togetherness, unburdened by the usual stresses of life.
The Night: Prayers and Gratitude
After Iftar, we performed the Maghrib prayer together. The house was quiet once again, the only sound being the soft rustle of prayer mats. As I stood in prayer, I felt a deep sense of peace. The day had been long, but it had also been fulfilling.
Before bed, I sat on the rooftop, gazing at the stars. The combination of Labour Day and Roja had given me a new perspective. Labour Day was a reminder of the value of hard work, while Roja was a reminder of the importance of faith and gratitude. Together, they formed a perfect balance—a harmony of the physical and the spiritual.
Conclusion: A Day to Remember
May 1st in our Pakistani household was more than just a holiday. It was a day of reflection, family, and faith. It was a day to honor the labour of our hands and the labour of our souls. And as I drifted off to sleep, I felt a deep sense of gratitude—for my family, for my faith, and for the simple joys of life.