It’s Eid-ul-Adha again.
The air smells of cardamom, smoke, and something older, something sacred. Not the kind of sacred that lives in rituals or rules, but something that breathes in the space between people. In the act of giving. In the decision to let go. In the willingness to place something dear at the feet of something greater.
Because this Eid is not just about celebration. It is about sacrifice.
Not just the goat. That’s a myth. But the harder things. Real things.
Pride. Ego. Resentment. Hate. The little violences we carry inside us. The bitterness we’ve nurtured. The stories we’ve told ourselves about who deserves love, and who doesn’t.
And that, I think, is what makes it powerful.
Even as an atheist, I’ve been at those Eid tables. Sat cross-legged on cool floors lined with cotton sheets that have heard laughter older than mine. I’ve eaten biryani that felt like being hugged by time. Watched strangers be fed like family. Seen joy unfold in the shape of hospitality. And I’ve heard laughter that somehow held, folded into its cadence, the memory of every hurt that had been forgiven and chosen to be forgotten.
I’ve been loved. Welcomed. Embraced. Even, let me repeat, as an atheist.
And I’ve watched, helpless, as this country has vilified those very same people. Called them invaders. Infiltrators. Baby machines. Told them to go back to lands they never came from. Lynched them for what they ate. Shunned them for how they prayed. Demolished their homes and dreams in broad daylight, and then lit up the skyline in celebration.
And yet, still, they rise.
Still, they open their homes.
Still, they cook.
Still, they smile and say, “Eid Mubarak, Bhaijaan. Khaana khaoge?”
That is not just tradition.
That is sacrifice.
To be spit on, and still serve sweetness. To be othered, and still offer belonging. To be broken, and still choose to heal. That is the truest qurbani of all.
Not the animal. But the instinct to retaliate.
Not the ritual. But the decision to lay your anger at the altar and walk away lighter.
And let’s be honest: there are good people everywhere, and terrible ones too. No religion holds the patent on virtue. Or vice. That is not a theological truth. It is a human one.
So, the question isn’t, “Which side are you on?”
The question is, “What are you willing to sacrifice?”
Can you give up the need to always be right? To be angry? To win? To feel superior?
Can you let go of the wall you’ve built inside your chest?
Because sometimes, the greatest act of devotion is to disarm yourself.
To meet an extended hand with your own.
To meet a meal with gratitude, not suspicion.
To choose, even once, to become the better human in the room.
This Eid, perhaps that is the invitation. Not to prove your righteousness. But to practise your humanity.
If you’ve been carrying too much anger, too much fear, too much us-versus-them in your bones, maybe it’s time to set it down. And eat a morsel of succulent mutton biryani.
Eid Mubarak!
