Fasting season

Thinking about the differences between Sri Lanka and Qatar during Ramadan

Ramadan isn’t something new to me. Growing up, it meant we got yummy biriyani or watalappam from our Muslim neighbours closer to Eid. Apart from that, I remember how Muslim kids at school were excused from sports practices if they were fasting. The sports meet was held around the same time every year, even if Ramadan happened to overlap those dates. I wasn’t good at sports, but everyone had to take part in the March Past (hello, colonial byproduct!). Unless, of course, you were fasting. I disliked getting sweaty and marching over and over again in straight lines for no apparent reason under the hot sun, and would be envious of the muslim kids who sat in the shade watching us. It didn’t occur to me that they might want to participate; that they might be sad at missing out.

But apart from these instances, life went on as usual during Ramadan. I didn’t have close Muslim friends until adulthood, when we would break fast together at a cafe, or they would invite me over for Iftar. I still salivate at the thought of Kheer, a delicacy I would not have known the joy of if not for my friend Zahara. At the workplace, our Muslim colleagues would disappear during lunch time, but if not, people continued to eat and drink around them. It’s not that we were insensitive about it, but they would never make a big deal of it either. A recent Reddit post confirms that they don’t seem to mind.1 Being in a multicultural society means we live and let live. Right?

Since 2024, I have been living through Ramadan in a Middle Eastern country, and it’s been a sort of cultural awakening. I had already learned the hard way that everything closes on Friday mornings —the weekend here is Friday and Saturday— when I entered an Ikea just when it was about to close at 10 am, and then whiled away three hours in an enormous shopping mall with all the shops closed. I enjoyed the solitude, and later grew to appreciate the freedom of Friday mornings at home.

But when Ramadan begins, things get serious. School timings change, which is great for us, as we get to lie in longer in the mornings, and all school sports and after-school activities are paused. Shops and businesses operate at different timings, and since I can’t figure out what is open when, I stick to ordering online. The malls, now open only in the evenings, go into overdrive, staying open till as late as 1 am, with massive sales starting towards the end of Ramadan. The streets are decorated with lights, and kids play till late evening. It’s almost like Christmas.

What I personally find the hardest to deal with is the rule of not being able to eat and drink in public. Restaurants don’t serve food during the day, and there are heavy fines to be paid if you get caught consuming even your own food and drinks in public. I get thirsty often, so if I need to sip water while driving, I bend down out of sight (yes, at traffic stops, don’t worry) to do it. I was in the habit of going to the library twice a week to write, but it’s tough for me to write or engage in any work for hours without at least a drink, so I stay home. And although I bet there are as many non-Muslims as there are Muslims here in Qatar, everybody has to abide by these rules. Sure, it might be inconvenient, but it’s only for a few weeks, and it’s definitely not unbearable (unless you’re a labourer who has no choice but to work, which is a different story altogether).

Sri Lanka has a small but significant Muslim population. They are a vital part of our history and culture; we wouldn’t be who we are without them. Living through what seems to be one end of the extreme makes me grateful that we have a more balanced approach to it back home, but it has made me wonder if that “balance” comes at a cost. It is no secret that we are a country constantly simmering beneath the surface with racial tension. It seems that there’s a lot we take for granted.

Inclusivity is not just filling up a quota and enjoying each other’s food during celebrations. I’m not sure exactly what it is, but it has to be more than that. Maybe it’s when the school assembly highlights what Ramadan is about. Maybe it’s knowing the difference between Ramadan and Eid (I am ashamed to say I didn’t know this till a few years ago). Or maybe it’s knowing your fasting friends are chill about you eating in front of them, but trying your best not to do it anyway. There is so much more we can gain as a nation from making space and really learning from each other’s differences, and not normalising the way things have always been done, because that’s the way it’s always been done, which, if you think about it, is the way the majority have always done things. And is something okay to do because nobody has a problem with it? And do they not have a problem with it because they know that it wouldn’t make a difference to you if they did?