The east wing of the apartments I live in have been facing intermittent ELCB tripping pretty frequently in the last two to three months. We have been at the mercy of a number of electricians, presumably experts in their field, coming up with differing reasons as to why the black-outs have been occurring.
There we were faced with another bout of 'lights out', ten minutes before the breaking of fast. Unperturbed, we went to the nearby masjid to break our fast and to perform our Maghrib prayers. We arrived home half an hour later to find the house in total darkness.
We ate our food (a little cold it was, I might add, as we could not warm up the food I had deftly cooked two hours ago) in the light of a couple of candles, feeling a tad warm with not a breeze mustered by the winds of the night.
I was eating with not a complaint about the 'dark' situation, when it hit me. The emotional tinge that went through me as it dawned on me the many families who eat their iftar meals in the dark daily; possibly meals more simple than what I had cooked (yes, admittedly I am not a whizz of a cook). It left me with tears in my eyes and with a miserable, sinking feeling of the many failures for not having thanked Allah for what we have, for not showing our appreciation for all that he has given us - a term worded as "shukur" in Arabic. And I actually lost my appetite for a brief moment (no, it wasn't due to the food on my plate...)
Just to clear the air, I am not one to mope and gripe about my life and the many events that I have gone through (memorable as they are though you wish some of them not to be); it's the failure to be even more thankful and grateful for what we have.
Come Ramadhan we talk convincingly about how this blessed month teaches us empathy, reminds us of the sufferings of the less fortunate, and to instill discipline into our daily lives. But really, looking at the sufferings of the world, are we just paying lip service?
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