I am a weak Muslim. I don’t fast during Ramzan simply because I find it extremely hard to control my hunger. Many fellow Pakistanis and Muslims may mock my decision but I firmly believe that everyone’s spiritual journey is unique in its essence and is, thus, a private matter between the divine forces and that person.

Here in Pakistan, the month of Ramzan (yes, not Ramadan) has evolved into a time where people judge the piety of others with a magnifying glass in one hand and a spreadsheet of their sawab (deeds) and gunaah (sins) in the other.

This year our government, in line with our stringent and inflexible society, which remains shackled by faith, reimposed the Ehteram-e-Ramzan Ordinance that forbids people from eating or drinking in public spaces (even in this scorching heat), during roza hours. We were warned, the ‘improved’ law now punishes lawbreakers with a fine of Rs 25,000 and an imprisonment of up to three months.

But, of course, the ordinance merrily overlooked minorities, pregnant and menstruating women, people on medication, smokers as well as people like me, those with a weak resolve. But then again, did our existence ever matter in the first place?

With such a hard-line version of Islam embossed upon every inch of our social fabric, one would unwittingly think our society was nearly devoid of all modern-day evils such as corruption, lies, injustice and class division. But our reality is no longer concealed from the world; it no longer resides in purdah.

The new ordinance has the potential of becoming a weapon in the hands of people who may wish to punish non-fasting Muslims. It was just a couple of months ago that Mashal Khan, a bright student of Mardan University, was lynched by fellow students on rumours of blasphemy. Rumours of ‘he/she ate during roza time’ can become increasingly lethal in the future if the government doesn’t relax its stance or stop shoving its chosen style of faith down our throats.

Often, I have been forced to lie about my roza status to avoid embarrassment and unsolicited lecture by strangers. Unfortunately, looking and talking like a devout Muslim takes precedence here over being one from the core.

We, as people, are evidently in dire need of a direction and Ramzan could have been just the month for internal and social reviews, but its presence has been commodified entirely.

The Pakistani version of Ramzan is mostly about gloating and gluttony, of lavish Iftar parties, of pompous displays of charity and endless Ramzan TV transmissions that teach people greed. The studio audience in these shows either wins a mobile set or a gift hamper from a fashion designer, among other coveted prizes, if they correctly answer religious questions. People fight with each other like cats and dogs to win these gifts, disregarding the true message of Ramzan, which is to conquer one’s desires.

There are so many mullahs on TV right now, that the unemployed youth of Pakistan might as well start considering being one as a lucrative part-time job for next year’s Ramzan. None of the authoritative voices on TV now, with their extravagant headgears and mehendi-coloured beards, impart advice on real pressing issues like the fire of intolerance that is slowly charring us from within.

Don’t get me wrong though, I am not a closet atheist, which to my surprise has been increasing in number in urban centres of Pakistan. I have my good days and bad days with religion. There are times when I become exasperated with life and just like everyone else I, too, wonder if someone is truly up there and if that entity actually cares about the mess on this planet. I do offer my namaz but I am often rebuked by ladies who object to my painted nails. It is so because according to one hadith (oral tradition), it annuls the ablution (wuzu). So in their eyes, my namaz doesn’t even count because of my bright orange nails.

These naysayers conveniently forget that the Surah Baqarah in the Quran clearly states that ‘there’s no compulsion in faith’, but our society has bestowed Allah with a school principal-like personality — someone who is fond of punishing — forgetting that he is rahim (merciful) and kareem (most generous). Until and unless folks who have taken it upon themselves to be God’s personal secretaries resign from their duties, Ramzan in Pakistan will always be about a skin-deep spiritual wash, rather than an in-depth cleansing that brings about an actual reform in character.

[opiniontag]