1 day Ago
Eid mornings once had a rhythm of their own—the hurried rush to get ready for prayers, the lingering aroma of shemai simmering in the kitchen, the weight of crisp new notes tucked into envelopes for eager little hands. The joy of stepping into a relative's house unannounced, knowing an elaborate meal and endless chatter awaited. The bustle of marketplaces before Eid, the sheer chaos of haggling for the perfect outfit, the late-night family outings for last-minute sweets.
All of it was a ritual, an experience, a story that bound generations together. But nostalgia is a tricky thing. It makes us remember the essence of moments while glossing over their inconveniences.
The relentless traffic, the frantic ATM withdrawals for fresh cash, and the occasional disappointment of finding that the tailor had, in fact, not finished that perfect Eid outfit in time. The world has changed, and with it, so has Eid. Yet, paradoxically, technology is bringing back the very elements we thought we had lost.
The tradition of giving 'salami' or Eidi—once a delightful exchange of crisp banknotes—now happens with a simple digital transfer. A beep on a phone replaces the crisp of new notes, but the warmth of the gesture remains unchanged. While some may lament the absence of that tangible exchange, one could argue that the ease of an instant transfer means more relatives, even those far away, receive their share of blessings, along with sweet Eid messages.
It also brings back the tradition of Eid cards, that can be customised and easily shared. Just a tap, a few seconds, and someone's Eid is made. Even Eid shopping, once an endurance test of navigating congested roads and braving overcrowded malls, has undergone a transformation.
The thrill of finding the perfect outfit is now a matter of scrolling through Facebook Live sales, a phenomenon that has turned social media into a virtual bazaar. Vendors showcase embroidered panjabis and shimmering dresses with the same enthusiasm once reserved for market stall owners calling out to passersby. And much like traditional shopping, there is still the anticipation, the uncertainty of whether the ordered item will look as good in real life.
The difference? Instead of an irate shopkeeper, there is now a comments section full of customers sharing their mixed reviews. Then there are groceries, last-minute shopping errands, and baskets full of Eid essentials—shemai, sugar, milk, ghee, spices—carried home with a sense of satisfaction. Today, a few swipes on online grocery platforms ensure the very same items arrive at the doorstep, sparing families from last-minute chaos.
It is just as easy to send these gifts to your loved ones, helping spread the festive vibes while saving the inconvenience of running all over the place. The nostalgia of Eid kitchens, however, remains intact. The magic of home-cooked meals, the generational recipes whispered from one hand to another, and the warmth of a kitchen filled with laughter and stories have endured, untouched by algorithms.
And what is Eid without its cultural indulgences? Once, it was the wait for the Eid-special drama on television, the entire family gathering in front of a single screen to watch Humayun Ahmed's latest storytelling. Today, the options are endless—Netflix, Hoichoi, Bongo—yet the essence remains. The shared experience of discovering a new hit series, debating its merits over tea, or even nostalgically rewatching old favourites has not faded.
Technology has not erased collective viewing; it has merely redefined it, making it possible for even those living away to partake in the same cultural moment. Social media, too, has taken the concept of Eid greetings to new heights. Where once handwritten Eid cards arrived days late, now a single Instagram story or a personalised WhatsApp sticker does the job.
Perhaps less intimate, but undeniably more efficient. Some may say the handwritten notes had a charm of their own, but it is hard to deny the immediacy of digital warmth. The greetings arrive on time, across continents, bridging distances that once seemed insurmountable.
Eid has always been about connections—whether through shared meals, exchanged gifts, or collective prayers. What technology has done is remove barriers, making it possible for these connections to remain intact despite time zones and geographical distances. The heartfelt phone calls have been replaced by video calls, and the neighbourhood chaa gatherings now include friends from across the globe in a single Zoom session.
For all its modern conveniences, Eid still holds onto its essence. Children still wait eagerly for their salami, families still gather, and the joy of celebration is as alive as ever. The mediums have evolved, but the emotions remain timeless.
Perhaps, in this strange blend of past and future, technology is not erasing nostalgia. It is preserving it, repackaging it in ways that fit the world we now inhabit. Eid, after all, has never been about the how.
It has always been about the who. And as long as that remains, nothing is truly lost. Eid mornings once had a rhythm of their own—the hurried rush to get ready for prayers, the lingering aroma of shemai simmering in the kitchen, the weight of crisp new notes tucked into envelopes for eager little hands.
The joy of stepping into a relative's house unannounced, knowing an elaborate meal and endless chatter awaited. The bustle of marketplaces before Eid, the sheer chaos of haggling for the perfect outfit, the late-night family outings for last-minute sweets. All of it was a ritual, an experience, a story that bound generations together.
But nostalgia is a tricky thing. It makes us remember the essence of moments while glossing over their inconveniences. The relentless traffic, the frantic ATM withdrawals for fresh cash, and the occasional disappointment of finding that the tailor had, in fact, not finished that perfect Eid outfit in time.
The world has changed, and with it, so has Eid. Yet, paradoxically, technology is bringing back the very elements we thought we had lost. The tradition of giving 'salami' or Eidi—once a delightful exchange of crisp banknotes—now happens with a simple digital transfer.
A beep on a phone replaces the crisp of new notes, but the warmth of the gesture remains unchanged. While some may lament the absence of that tangible exchange, one could argue that the ease of an instant transfer means more relatives, even those far away, receive their share of blessings, along with sweet Eid messages. It also brings back the tradition of Eid cards, that can be customised and easily shared.
Just a tap, a few seconds, and someone's Eid is made. Even Eid shopping, once an endurance test of navigating congested roads and braving overcrowded malls, has undergone a transformation. The thrill of finding the perfect outfit is now a matter of scrolling through Facebook Live sales, a phenomenon that has turned social media into a virtual bazaar.
Vendors showcase embroidered panjabis and shimmering dresses with the same enthusiasm once reserved for market stall owners calling out to passersby. And much like traditional shopping, there is still the anticipation, the uncertainty of whether the ordered item will look as good in real life. The difference? Instead of an irate shopkeeper, there is now a comments section full of customers sharing their mixed reviews.
Then there are groceries, last-minute shopping errands, and baskets full of Eid essentials—shemai, sugar, milk, ghee, spices—carried home with a sense of satisfaction. Today, a few swipes on online grocery platforms ensure the very same items arrive at the doorstep, sparing families from last-minute chaos. It is just as easy to send these gifts to your loved ones, helping spread the festive vibes while saving the inconvenience of running all over the place.
The nostalgia of Eid kitchens, however, remains intact. The magic of home-cooked meals, the generational recipes whispered from one hand to another, and the warmth of a kitchen filled with laughter and stories have endured, untouched by algorithms. And what is Eid without its cultural indulgences? Once, it was the wait for the Eid-special drama on television, the entire family gathering in front of a single screen to watch Humayun Ahmed's latest storytelling.
Today, the options are endless—Netflix, Hoichoi, Bongo—yet the essence remains. The shared experience of discovering a new hit series, debating its merits over tea, or even nostalgically rewatching old favourites has not faded. Technology has not erased collective viewing; it has merely redefined it, making it possible for even those living away to partake in the same cultural moment.
Social media, too, has taken the concept of Eid greetings to new heights. Where once handwritten Eid cards arrived days late, now a single Instagram story or a personalised WhatsApp sticker does the job. Perhaps less intimate, but undeniably more efficient.
Some may say the handwritten notes had a charm of their own, but it is hard to deny the immediacy of digital warmth. The greetings arrive on time, across continents, bridging distances that once seemed insurmountable. Eid has always been about connections—whether through shared meals, exchanged gifts, or collective prayers.
What technology has done is remove barriers, making it possible for these connections to remain intact despite time zones and geographical distances. The heartfelt phone calls have been replaced by video calls, and the neighbourhood chaa gatherings now include friends from across the globe in a single Zoom session. For all its modern conveniences, Eid still holds onto its essence.
Children still wait eagerly for their salami, families still gather, and the joy of celebration is as alive as ever. The mediums have evolved, but the emotions remain timeless. Perhaps, in this strange blend of past and future, technology is not erasing nostalgia.
It is preserving it, repackaging it in ways that fit the world we now inhabit. Eid, after all, has never been about the how. It has always been about the who.
And as long as that remains, nothing is truly lost..
