And here’s one of the big decisions Eid forces us to confront: Were we changed by Ramadan? What was the product of the month anyway?
I would love to tell you, dear, friendly, moderate, Western reader, that Ramadan transformed me into a magical, levitating, South Asian Yoda. A man bereft of worry, anxiety and pain, awash in the glow of spiritual bliss and Rumi-esque nuggets of tweetable wisdoms. I wish I could report that as I fasted from food and drink for nearly 16.5 hours a day, my hunger was replaced by an enhanced meditative state, filled with images of waterfalls, unicorns and avatars of Deepak Chopra. That my farts smelled like potpourri and my Ramadan breath held the fragrance of a rose garden.
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