“Did you guys bring the cooler?” Amir uncle asked as he hoisted up his son in his arms.

“Yeah, it’s in the back seat,” I gritted my teeth as I pulled the basket of uncooked but seasoned meat out of our car and carried it into the beach house we had booked a fortnight ago.

Inside the house, everyone was running around hugging each other and talking loudly. I smiled slightly at the blur of people and colours in front of me. Today was the third day of Eid-ul-Azha, which meant, for our family, the day we book our usual beach house and have a picnic of sorts.

I don’t remember exactly how this tradition started, but I do know it had been around since before I was born. In fact, today I planned on asking my grandmother how this third-day-of-Eid tradition started.

I looked around and there she was, in her favourite spot right beside the huge glass window overlooking the beach, smack in the middle of the living room. She loves to sit there because then she can keep an eye on the children running around outside and be able to talk and listen to the adults sitting inside at the same time.

“Nani!” I walked up to her, arms spread open, and bent down to give her a tight hug. “How are you?” I asked immediately after pulling away, the scent of her coconut shampoo and her fruity perfume lingered in the air.

“Now that my favourite grandkid is here, I feel amazing,” she replied cheerfully. I laughed and pulled up a stool beside her sofa.

“Nani, how did this all begin?” I gestured around us. “This tradition, everything about it.”

Kids were laughing and comparing their mehndi. Some adults were chatting in the kitchen, their eyes on the bubbling pots on the stove. Some were just lounging around, already munching on snacks and scrolling through their phones. There was a warm feeling of familiarity and mutual affection in the air.

“Well,” Nani sighed deeply and looked up slightly, a wistful look clouded her eyes. “Your grandfather, may Allah rest his soul, had always been a family man. He would organise parties and cookouts just so he could bring his family together, all of it, for at least one day a month. Of course, those monthly reunions trickled down into yearly ones, but they persevered nonetheless.”

“So, Nana started this?” I inquired, scooting closer to her.

“Hmm ... not exactly. I think it was his grandfather who did.” Nani thought about it for a second then spoke again, “Yes, I do believe it was your great-grandfather who originally started this tradition. Then everyone slowly started adopting it. He, too, cared deeply about his family. I think that’s where your Nana got his knack for planning and organising big events from.”

“Do you remember your first Eid picnic?” I put my head on her lap.

“I do, actually. I used to be so much prettier back then,” Nani laughed ruefully.

“Oh, Nani, please,” I lifted my head up and rolled my eyes. “You still look as pretty as ever. In fact, I think you’re the most beautiful girl in the world.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Nani chided jokingly.

“It’s not flattery if it’s the truth,” I winked and laid my head back down.

“Well, in that case, flattery will get you everywhere,” Nani giggled like a schoolgirl and patted my head. “So, the first-ever Eid picnic I attended was right after my wedding, which was a bit intimidating. I didn’t know anyone there andI had to prove my social and domestic skills too. But your grandfather was the sweetest person ever and helped me get through the day. He never once left my side. And when he saw that the women of the house had warmed up to me, he let me be while he went out to fire up the grill and catch up with his relatives. I was so nervous and jittery the entire time, but there was this atmosphere of understanding and support in the women’s group that soon I felt like a proper member of the family, one that had been around for a long, long time.

“We ate kebabs, sheermal, karahi, biryani, and pulao. I still remember the menu because everyone kept trying to feed me more and more. It was like being back at my childhood home where everyone fussed around over each other. Then we had rosy-pink Kashmiri chai, cooked over the still-burning coals. We talked about our kids, our jobs, our lives. It was amazing. I loved every second of it. That was when I decided, no matter how old or feeble I get or how far apart my family drifts away, the Eid picnic tradition would alwaysstay. And Alhamdulillah it has.”

“Do you miss your old picnics with Nana?” I asked softly because unbeknownst to Nani, gentle tears had started sprouting from her eyes.

“I do and I don’t,” Nani sniffed and dabbed at her cheeks, slightly surprised to see she had unknowingly cried.

“What do you mean?” I was speaking in an almost whisper now but Nani had still heard me. It was like we were in this little bubble, far away from the humdrum of life booming around us.

“Nothing and no one can stay forever, so of course I miss your grandfather being here. But whenever I see my family together like this, I can almost feel him next to me, watching and smiling and advising everyone what to do and what not to do.”

Nani looked out at the porch swing where my baby cousins were clambering up and down while struggling to keep the whole thing moving. “When I see them laughing and playing, I can see him trying to help them up on that swing, shaking his head at their naivety.”

She looked over at the men now who were heaving up cooking supplies out of their cars and onto the side of the porch where there was a separate area for grilling meat.

“And when I see them, I can see him carrying the skewers and starting to wash them up so he can pierce the meat in them. I see him everywhere in everyone. He’s in someone’s smile, someone’s words, someone’s voice. He’s ... us. And I think that’s why I don’t miss him that much because I don’t have to. How can you miss someone standing right in front of you?”

Now it was my turn to cry. I hugged Nani hard and snuggled my face on her shoulder.

“I miss him so much,” I mumbled through my tears.

“I know, beta, I know,” Nani smoothed the back of my head soothingly. We stayed like that for a moment. “You know where I see him the most?”

I pulled back and wiped my face which was probably smeared with mascara and red splotches of embarrassment now. “Where?”

Nani caressed my face and smiled at me, “When my favourite granddaughter in the world says I’m the prettiest girl in the world.”

I smile weakly as I asked, “Nana used to say that?”

“Every day,” Nani smiled. “It was like his own personal tradition.”

Published in Dawn, Young World, July 10th, 2021