With people mistaking you for their daughters to aunties trying to get into your head, Eid in my family has become infamous for setting off a ticking time bomb that explodes ever so often. In the end, you are just left to seek refuge – sometimes from your own home which just a second ago might have appeared to be a welcome abode but is now swarming with hungry pest-like relatives who would like nothing better than to rip your life stories apart, dine and leave.
Some of them would throw a tantrum. Few would just make an extraordinary request (“Can all the lights in the drawing room be switched off?” ) while others would stick to leaving chewed gums in between those tiny spaces in a sofa that you think no body would ever notice but then they haven’t met my mom.
This bi-annual ritual of annoying the shit out of your family is probably what this public holiday has become with many a time me losing my head over my possible choices of escape – all of which have been pretty much futile in the face of a tiny flicker of hope that maybe this time won’t be so bad.
And you know it’s bad when you run.
Once, even literally.