by Javaria Atiya Waheed

Eyes scrunched and throat parched, I trudged my way up the stairs longing for one drop of water. Ramadan in this heat isn’t such a good idea. By the time I’ve ascended the four flights of stairs, I am completely breathless with the thirst piercing my throat. I rush inside and within fifteen minutes, I am in bed with the air-conditioner on. Before I know I fall into a deep slumber.

I wake up ten minutes before iftaar and feel delighted. Scuttling around, I quickly set out the table and in no time we all are seated waiting for the Azaan. Mom switches to a news channel to kill time…five minutes more, I groan. As I try and avoid looking at the scrumptious meal that lay waiting for me, the news catches my eye. A man in the flood-stricken area of Sialkot, sharing 1 roti with three of his children at iftaar. One roti. Just one. I look at the dining-table and its contents: think of my previous agitation and feel ashamed—ashamed that I could be so selfish, so apathetic.

That day, eating iftaar seemed like an impossible feat. Where we have air-conditioners to beat the heat, a shelter to house ourselves and a variety of foods to satiate our hunger, these people have been left with nothing. Out of a population of 16 million, more than 1 million have been rendered in a dire state by this disastrous flood. And where news channels and people are ranting on and on about their fruitful efforts, efforts which are said to have raised more than 20 million rupees, how many are actually doing something? If so much money has been collected, then why is ONE roti being shared between four people? We donate and feel that our part of the job is done. But how many of us have actually thought about these distressed people while stuffing ourselves at iftaar? Giving donations is solving less than quarter of the problem, because if the population has refused to rely on even the most reliable private organizations, and the government, it is for a reason. The delivery of these goods is not guaranteed. But then again, when we can waste money over stupid, iftaar parties, can’t we step forward and take the donations to the victims ourselves? Will it be so hard, knowing that we have access to all the means of transport which can get us around the country in no time? Ramadan is supposed to be the month of sharing: the month in which well-off people like us are supposed to feel for the less fortunate ones. But what we actually do is what I did. We come home, we switch on the AC and we sleep.

We point our finger at Zardari for sitting in London through this calamity, but we, who are present here are doing nothing either. We sleep, we have iftaar and then we go shopping for Eid—not even thinking for one minute that these people are oblivious to the concept of Eid this year? The children won’t have fancy, new clothes to wear or Eidi to be excited about. The women won’t have a chance to adorn their wrists with the tinkle of bangles. The men won’t have crispy shalwaar kameezes to wear to the Eid prayer. And here we are, just sitting and watching that box in our living rooms, shaking our heads. Some will be moved enough to go and donate generously, but then there is no warranty as to whether the material is reaching the victims in the principal amount or not.

Recently, I heard about a private Iftaar being hosted by a cluster of students from one of the top “schools” in Pakistan to collect charity for the flood victims. For a minute I thought about the brilliance of the idea. But then I read instructions like “Bring your friends along”, “good way to relax your mind” etc and I saw the truth—these people were making this calamity and need a way to “socialize”, a way to enhance their “social standing”. No one is ready to do anything selflessly. Every is looking or their own motive belying their actions.

When we have ways to get anywhere in the world, wouldn’t it be a better idea to get sustenance to just one flood-stricken family? Just one? One family whom we can promise the joys of Eid and a satisfying iftaar for the rest of the month. As it is said one small effort can make a world of difference, maybe our effort will set a precedent for others. We teenagers are lithe, flexible and mentally acute right now—to go to a flood area jointly would not be hard. Distributing happiness is never hard.

Instead of turning a blind eye to Earth’s greatest calamity and turning it into a “socializing” technique, it is high time that we should become aware of our responsibilities. Pack a box of Eid clothes for the families, bangles, slippers and everything that goes with it. Pack a box of daily nutrition. If delivery is not being guaranteed then it is our job to guarantee it. The most we can do here is trust ourselves. So let’s step forward and respect the spirit of Ramadan.