Childhood is that precious part of one’s life that dominates the rest of one’s years. If ever anyone, bit by bit and little by little while heading towards old age, has the guts to glance back at any part of one’s life, then it is none other than childhood, or at the maximum teenage hood. No one cares about the value and importance of these two priceless phases of one’s life when he or she passes through it, but when one is about to touch the ‘naughty (forty) decade’ the recollections of childhood and teenage hood suddenly become important themes.

I am sure as I miss my childhood, so would my elders who would also be missing the religious events, occasions or festivals such as Eid-ul-Fitr, Eid-ul-Adha, Eid-e-Milad-un-Nabi (PBUH), Ramadan or Shab-e-Barat. No doubt that the occasions would be few, but people would rejoice and exult with extreme religious fervour.

Generally weeks before, and in certain cases months before these events, one would wait for them. I still remember that I would wait for the month of Ramadan even at that age when mandatory fasting would not be relevant to me. In fact, it would be the adventure and ecstasy to get up early in the morning and to share the sumptuous Sehri with the elders, and for that I would even promise not to insist on fasting.

I would even go to the extent of blackmailing my mother to boycott the food in case I was not woken up. This blackmailing would work since the Almighty has created mothers merely for getting emotionally blackmailed by their offspring. When my mother would wake me up, I would run around in excitement and would display my efficiency by extending an extraordinarily long helping hand to my beloved mother.

Meanwhile when traditional ‘Dhol (drum), Canister Party’ would pass through the street, waking people up by beating canisters and singing Na’at, I would adjust myself in the balcony to give them a warm welcome. At the time of Iftar, I would sit at the lavishly laid out table in such a way as if I was the one who was fasting.

My father would watch my funny behavior and would throw an irksome glance at me. Finally the time for the month of Ramadan would come to an end and the most colourful religious festival Eid-ul-Fitr would approach. The most attractive and appealing proceedings of Eid-ul-Fitr would compel us to change our loyalties like our worthy politicians normally do. The daydreaming about buying new clothes, shoes and gifts would start.

Usually during the last days of the month of Ramadan, father would take us to the bazaar to buy us all that we had dreamt about during the first 20 days of the month. Now we would take out those clothes every now and then and would ‘show the shining shoe to every guest’ who comes to our home, and finally the Eid night — also known as ‘Chaand Raat’ — would come.

We would find a gift pack of toys on our bedside when we would get up on Eid morning. My parents would claim that those were kept by ‘Chanda Maamu’ (Moon Uncle) sometime during the night. Chanda Maamu is to us Muslim children what Santa Claus is for our Christian counterparts. The same zeal and zest would be displayed when Eid-e-Milad-un-Nabi (PBUH) would come.

All this is haunting me since the last seven, eight years with extreme vigour and verve. Especially when some of our print media companions and a few of our electronic media channels have started projecting those events and occasions, wittingly or unwittingly, which have got nothing to do with our culture, traditions or religion. It was all right as long as Basant would be celebrated peacefully, merely as a kite flying festival, but then it became a nuisance and pest when it started taking precious human lives.

This curse was followed by another lewd occasion known as Valentine’s Day. Some of the newspapers would give this day more importance than what it deserved or required. Some of the papers prominently publish the love messages in their special supplement printed in a striking red colour. Some of the messages would be so vulgar and licentious that even a reader would blush and feel ashamed.

The generation expected to step into the shoes of Khalid Bin Walid, Tariq, Qasim, Jinnah and Fatima are being taught to become Romeo and Juliet. This was not the end. Now it would be the turn of Halloween Day. Sensible and sober people would take pride in becoming ghosts and ghouls. Here in Lahore, Karachi or Islamabad, many a restaurant and hotel would purposely arrange a horrifying Halloween interior layout.

The innocent children would return home with freakish-looking masks. Has any one of us ever thought what is the story and history behind these imported festivals and events? Have we gone bankrupt of our events that we have started importing these celebrations? Aren’t we the ones who are to be blamed for losing out on our young generation?

Today when I try to find out my pious and popular religious festivals like Eid-ul-Fitr, Ramadan, Shab-e-Barat, Eid-e-Milad-un-Nabi (PBUH), Mela Charaghan and many other Islamic and cultural events, unfortunately I find them buried deep under these Halloweens, Valentines, Basants and Diwalis.

A few days back on Eid-e-Milad-un-Nabi (PBUH) when the traditional sweets were sent to one of our neighbours, we were questioned about the occasion. I strongly believe that we have buried these delightful festivals alive and now must wait for the time when our coming generations would dump us in the old age houses to avoid any disturbance likely to be caused by us.