Ramadan in space
Fasting while caring for patients in Karachi tested everything I thought I knew about endurance.
How do you fast when the temperature hits 45°C? That was the question I faced during my second Ramadan in Karachi.
I should tell you what Ramadan used to be. Before I moved here, it was a community event. My mother would start cooking at noon — samosas and biryani. The whole village smelled of turmeric and chilli by Maghrib.
That Ramadan doesn't exist anymore. Now I fast while the iftar is bread and hummus. The hunger is different. In home, fasting was a choice — you knew the feast was coming. Here, you eat what's available and thank Allah for it.
But here's what I didn't expect: Ramadan in the camp is the most spiritual experience of my life.
When you have nothing, you have Allah. People share food they can't afford to share. Brother Tariq, who is 80 years old, leads taraweeh with a voice that makes grown men weep. Children who have seen unimaginable loss sit in circles memorising Quran as if the words are armour.
Maybe they are.
Last Ramadan, on the 27th night, we heard Quran from every direction. I stood there and cried. Not from sadness — from awe. These people, who had been through the worst, were still reaching for the holiest night of the year.
Ramadan taught me that worship is not about abundance. It's about what you offer when you have almost nothing left to give.