How do we love and missed Bakra Eid

By the time Eidul Azha really runs, the country has long been handed over to it. Around this time, an empty plot rarely remains in this way for a long time, transforming into a Mandi jam. There, you will find people who catch goats out of their mouths to inspect their teeth. (For the missing: Katsika’s teeth reveal his age, with the two tooths holding the highest price). On the streets, cars carefully drag behind the casual flock of cows that make their way as if they are holding the place and somehow do it.

No one plays one eye when one Suzuki drives with animals overflow stacked over the other, their ends push from every possible gap. The kids run out with “Chaara” bags leaving a path back to their newly established goats. And of course, there is always that a cousin trying to one on everyone else, proud to boast about how many cash fell on their cow or camel, since a goat is simply very basic.

It is loud, it is chaotic, but it is undoubtedly ours.

Because for many of us, this Eid is a direct line for our childhood memories. Traveling to Mandi was our first introduction to the coveted phrase “Munasib Lagao”. We all have a Bakra Eid story: One goat that escaped through the neighborhood chased by a screaming party, or the chachu it took in the face of a panicked cow. Above all, we will never forget the candy enthusiasm to wake up in the eid morning in the sound of the sharpening knives, the aroma of raw meat in the air and our moms dividing qurbani meat into plastic bags for our dads.

Certainly, there is a intimacy in this eid that has stayed with us long after the meat has been packaged away.

However, somewhere on the road, his spirit has begun to fade. For all the love we offer to our animals, it cannot be disputed that we are strongly overlooked. The goats are tied very tightly under the hard sun without shadow, the cows stand for hours in warm concrete and the water is forgotten among the rounds of children pulling their ears or climb to their backs. We decorate them in elaborate garlands and glittering bells and laugh when they fight under the weight as if they were the hassle of a peculiar show. Perhaps our cruelty is not deliberate – we mean our excitement well, but it is increasingly on the edge of negligence.

Qurbani for the algorithm

Much of what has changed is also that this sacred act has become completely executive. Qurbani now arrives with a camera facing ahead and the animals are documented as they arrive. Their images and videos are spammed all over Whatsapp from every corner you can imagine (including things that no one wants to see) and posted on Instagram reels none of us can escape.

Of course, there is nothing inherently wrong with that. In fact, much is, of course, hilarious. A goat called Pathan Khan eats biryani from a plate, another balancing between three men on a bicycle. However, our laughter should not negate the fact that this tendency reduces the animal to a source of entertainment, deforming the lines between sacrifice and spectacle. In this way, he inevitably makes the way for the most worrying act of Qurbani’s own tape recorder, with people resorting to image missions, full videos and even live flow. What lets us challenge, who even watches them and what does this do, except for the conversion of an act of worship into an impressive show?

And then there is the issue of honor. In the weeks that led to the EID, prices rise to almost irrational heights. An animal becomes a symbol of status, less for sacrifice and more for the desire to overcome our neighbors – and their uncles and brothers. Sellers, knowing that people will spend whatever they need, will be fully benefited from this demand because they know a simple truth: you can’t walk away without buying. And so, a ritual that is literally for charity ends up feeling farther and farther, with the exception of the people who were intended to raise.

Blood, smell and tears

Unfortunately, the challenges do not end there. Most densely populated cities in Pakistan are simply not designed to accommodate the scale, animals or waste that accompanies the EID. And the karachi, more than anywhere else, carries its moan. This place – the aftermath – can be the hardest to joke. It does not smell nor it looks good when the remains of the animals are allowed to rot on the side of the streets as we jump on them to reach our cars. To make things worse, there is always the forthcoming fate that rivers of fresh blood and drainage will meet halfway to create a intense mud of dirt and contamination.

And God forbids if it is raining, the bloody sewage is mixed with rainfall to create an unpleasant and ugly chaos to say the least. Not to mention, it already extends to overloaded municipal services and falls to sewage workers who are rarely paid or treated fairly.

In a religion where the moral treatment of animals and the importance of cleanliness are fundamental, it is difficult to overlook irony. Ours is a ritual that is intended to honor life and sacrifice – it should in no way ignore it in the process.

To be clear, none of them are a rejection of the festival. After all, it comes from a longing for some time that is desperately hurting. EID is still one of the few moments when the country feels connected. The endless BBQ Dawats, the chaos in everyone’s kitchens, the collective participation in something greater than ourselves. These are things that are worth celebrating. But the celebration should never come at the cost of compassion.

This also does not mean that everyone is doing it wrong. There are families who gently treat their animals, butchers who work clearly and children who are taught clearly – not only what happens but because it matters. Simply put: Bakra Eid can be the same if we leave it alone.