Who's up for a rustic Eid?

I have only heard about on watched on TV the empty roads in Dhaka during Eid; I have never experienced a congestion-free Dhaka myself. This is because I've never spent an Eid in the city. Instead, I opt for enjoying it in Khirapara, a small village in Bikrampur. My ancestral home calls my heart, with its densely networked canals, numerous ponds and infinite paddy fields. And of course, there are memories. 

I remember, as a child, how I used to go there with my cousins, uncles and aunts. Back in those days, the roads weren't good; one needed to get on the ferry at one point. Eventually, rickshaws would take one part of the way, and then one would need to walk through a long, winding muddy path.

Even though the journey would be very tiring, it was a fascinating one. All the tiredness would wane away seeing my 'dadi' standing with open arms and a cheerful smile when we reached home. 

A village is a refuge from the maddening city. Mornings were spent playing cricket on an incredibly large field. Afternoons were reserved for splashing and playing in the pond. The more laidback ones in our band used to sit on the 'ghat' and relish in angling, whilst the more imaginative ones made paper boats and set them afloat. 

Lunch was arranged in a large room, with a long, simple cloth laid on the floor. The food was made by our in-house expert, 'Banir Ma'. The smoky flavour in the food, owing to the clay stove, was a treat unlike any other. Fresh fish caught from the pond a few hours prior to the meal and 'deshi murgi' (free-range chicken) dominated the dining hall. Moifaa, the domestic helper, made his contribution by going around the village and collecting various 'shaakh' to make a miscellaneous dish. For that, we tauntingly called him 'tokai', but his effort was cherished nevertheless. 

As darkness fell, things were different. Even the backyard of the house seemed scary. And there were always relatives from the village filling our ears with ghost stories.

Eid morning was a busy one, and getting dozens of children ready for prayer was a challenge for the elders. Wearing new clothes with a hint of attar and a dash of excitement, we all went to the mosque. During monsoon, one had to go on a boat, which added to the thrill. 

Children, with not a single responsibility in the world, probably enjoy Eid the most. And if it is in the countryside, the affair is nothing short of a picnic. 

Times have changed, and so have villages. With urbanisation and development, the notion of a village is altered, and in a few decades, the idea of a 'village' as we have known might become almost extinct. 

I for one want to enjoy it as long as I can. So who's up for a rustic Eid?