ghazi52
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Is it just me or is handing out Eidi a fading tradition?
It used to be that Rs1000 was the norm. Now, not so much.
This doesn't happen so often.
Imagine a world without eidi.
Putting it mildly, it’s an inexpressibly depressing thought. But at this rate, it's a world that's inching closer than ever before. Buckle up, friends, the times they are a changin’.
When I woke up yesterday, I wasn’t excited about Eid or eidi. Why? Because I know that come Eid, what I've come to call 'shrinking wallet syndrome' will hit full throttle — unfortunately, it’s inevitable, and there’s nothing we can do about it.
This Eid, my cousins and I were handed money ranging from Rs100 – 300 and we silently accepted it. No protests, no whining, not even bothering to open the envelope, knowing full well from the size and thickness of the envelope how much was contained inside.
And it's not just me — this seems to be a global phenomenon.
Hira Najam @hiranajam
Eid mubarak folks. I'd tell you about my Eidi but I didn't get any.
Talha Nadeem @90sTalha
My dad said no eidi this year kuz the value of pound dropped when he was the one who voted leave i beg someone come deport him
osy @OsmanMKhan
RT if you are broke and waiting for Eidi.
Sammar Zahra Khan @TheCryingSong
Waiting for Eidi to go to some restaurant with my friends. AND YOU THINK YOUR LIFE IS TOUGH.
But hold on a minute. When did this happen? When did this silent retreat take place? The Eid of yesteryear that I remember was the one time when camaraderie went out the window and it was every man for himself. You went behind your cousin’s back, held dealings with chachas and nani and dada – whoever you knew could easily be emotionally blackmailed for the sake of a few blue notes.
Remember the time when you would go back to school after Eid break and boast about how much money you got?
Or the time you would hide in a corner of your nani’s house just to count how much eidi you had collected, knowing full well that if someone saw you they’d definitely put nazar on it. Oh yeah, eyes lurking all around.
Or the time when you started carrying your own wallet/bag on Eid because you couldn’t trust your mother’s bag any longer? (I’m so sure that my eidi was distributed to my cousins on my parent’s behalf. SO sure).
But where did all of that go? Will the Eid we remember remain a distant memory in the past?
Eidi is tradition. It is our right, but the past couple of years have led us to believe otherwise. The crisp, fresh bank notes bound together by a rubber band seem to be all but a fallacy now.
How did this happen? When did a couple of hundreds, worse, no money at all, make the cut on Eid?
Don’t get me wrong, I am not reducing the holy occasion to monetary value. I love Eid; the endless family bonding sessions, the copious amounts of sugar-laden foods, the excuse to buy countless ‘Eid’ joras, and the chance to actually get a break from work life, are all great…
…but what is Eid ul Fitr without eidi?
Incomplete is the word, my friend.
Like an anda without paratha, like rain without pakoras, like mornings without chai.
It seems like the charm of Eid, i.e. eidi, has officially died, and with it all our hopes of ever trying to mint money from our relatives.
With inflation at an all time high, unfortunately, eidi rates have taken the hardest hit. The only excuse we get now is that everybody’s low on cash and the number of kids keeps increasing. In their words, “Supply kum hai aurdemand ziyada.”
Forget under the table agreements, there is barely anything on the table.
It has become such an alarmingly distressing situation, that we should take this matter to the Sindh government. After all, there is no difference between us and politicians; we both love extorting money, the only distinction is they do it all year round and we do it on only three days of the year.
Perhaps a dharna? It seems to work for Imran Khan, but we haven’t won the 1992 World Cup, nor do we own a hospital – we’ll probably have to pay people to join us and unfortunately, supply aj kal thora kum hai.
And now, since eidi has taken a swift turn down south, we've just given up and resorted to other methods: food. We’re not going to deny that food is our only consolation and silent vendetta.
We’ll stuff our faces with those siwayan and nimco (probably grab a few in our hands too before heading to other family members’ houses), how much money can you save now, eh?
It used to be that Rs1000 was the norm. Now, not so much.
This doesn't happen so often.
Imagine a world without eidi.
Putting it mildly, it’s an inexpressibly depressing thought. But at this rate, it's a world that's inching closer than ever before. Buckle up, friends, the times they are a changin’.
When I woke up yesterday, I wasn’t excited about Eid or eidi. Why? Because I know that come Eid, what I've come to call 'shrinking wallet syndrome' will hit full throttle — unfortunately, it’s inevitable, and there’s nothing we can do about it.
This Eid, my cousins and I were handed money ranging from Rs100 – 300 and we silently accepted it. No protests, no whining, not even bothering to open the envelope, knowing full well from the size and thickness of the envelope how much was contained inside.
And it's not just me — this seems to be a global phenomenon.
Hira Najam @hiranajamEid mubarak folks. I'd tell you about my Eidi but I didn't get any.
Talha Nadeem @90sTalhaMy dad said no eidi this year kuz the value of pound dropped when he was the one who voted leave i beg someone come deport him
osy @OsmanMKhanRT if you are broke and waiting for Eidi.
Sammar Zahra Khan @TheCryingSongWaiting for Eidi to go to some restaurant with my friends. AND YOU THINK YOUR LIFE IS TOUGH.
But hold on a minute. When did this happen? When did this silent retreat take place? The Eid of yesteryear that I remember was the one time when camaraderie went out the window and it was every man for himself. You went behind your cousin’s back, held dealings with chachas and nani and dada – whoever you knew could easily be emotionally blackmailed for the sake of a few blue notes.
Remember the time when you would go back to school after Eid break and boast about how much money you got?
Or the time you would hide in a corner of your nani’s house just to count how much eidi you had collected, knowing full well that if someone saw you they’d definitely put nazar on it. Oh yeah, eyes lurking all around.
Or the time when you started carrying your own wallet/bag on Eid because you couldn’t trust your mother’s bag any longer? (I’m so sure that my eidi was distributed to my cousins on my parent’s behalf. SO sure).
But where did all of that go? Will the Eid we remember remain a distant memory in the past?
Eidi is tradition. It is our right, but the past couple of years have led us to believe otherwise. The crisp, fresh bank notes bound together by a rubber band seem to be all but a fallacy now.
How did this happen? When did a couple of hundreds, worse, no money at all, make the cut on Eid?
Don’t get me wrong, I am not reducing the holy occasion to monetary value. I love Eid; the endless family bonding sessions, the copious amounts of sugar-laden foods, the excuse to buy countless ‘Eid’ joras, and the chance to actually get a break from work life, are all great…
…but what is Eid ul Fitr without eidi?
Incomplete is the word, my friend.
Like an anda without paratha, like rain without pakoras, like mornings without chai.
It seems like the charm of Eid, i.e. eidi, has officially died, and with it all our hopes of ever trying to mint money from our relatives.
With inflation at an all time high, unfortunately, eidi rates have taken the hardest hit. The only excuse we get now is that everybody’s low on cash and the number of kids keeps increasing. In their words, “Supply kum hai aurdemand ziyada.”
Forget under the table agreements, there is barely anything on the table.
It has become such an alarmingly distressing situation, that we should take this matter to the Sindh government. After all, there is no difference between us and politicians; we both love extorting money, the only distinction is they do it all year round and we do it on only three days of the year.
Perhaps a dharna? It seems to work for Imran Khan, but we haven’t won the 1992 World Cup, nor do we own a hospital – we’ll probably have to pay people to join us and unfortunately, supply aj kal thora kum hai.
And now, since eidi has taken a swift turn down south, we've just given up and resorted to other methods: food. We’re not going to deny that food is our only consolation and silent vendetta.
We’ll stuff our faces with those siwayan and nimco (probably grab a few in our hands too before heading to other family members’ houses), how much money can you save now, eh?
