Ramzan is not a month of feasting, but rather abstinence and reflection, and men and women both pray to the almighty Allah. (Source: Express Archives)
Mar 12, 2025 19:20 IST First published on: Mar 12, 2025 at 19:20 IST
In the quiet of early morning, as the call for sehri echoes through the house — either through the morning azaan or the alarm clock — the kitchen is already alive. In my large joint family, the ladies of the house are dressed in their Ramzan best, and are in the midst of preparing a spread for when the long day of fasting will end. The smell of something sweet, like sewaiyan, or even fresh parathas to go with the leftover meat from last night, and the sound of teacups and pots enliven the morning air. Around them, the family is still getting ready, the men preparing for prayers and the children yawning as they stumble into the dining room. It’s a routine that repeats every day of Ramzan, a labour that often goes unnoticed — the cooking, the cleaning, the serving, all while the women themselves fast. As the sun sets, they bring out the Iftar spread, their hands still moving, setting the table, and ensuring everyone is taken care of. But who takes care of them?
We often romanticise Ramzan: The grand feasts and the community iftar gatherings. But for many women, these moments of joy are marked by the often overwhelming responsibilities they face in preparing these elaborate spreads. Gender roles within the family, particularly when it comes to food, have always existed, and in a Muslim family, festive celebrations only harden them.
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The women in my family, and others I’ve spoken to, say that time management is the big thing. Ramzan is not a month of feasting, but rather abstinence and reflection, and men and women both pray to the almighty Allah. But the extra workload of keeping the house in order doesn’t fall on all equally. Men observe the fast, attend prayers and tarawih, work in the office, and break their fast with their families — women would do all this, while remaining the silent caretakers in the background.
Food has always been a space where women have carried the weight of tradition. It is through their labour, love, and expertise that well-loved flavours pass down the generations, meal by meal.
The gender roles dictate not only what women do but how they feel about their experience of Ramzan — often exhausted, overburdened, and sometimes invisible — but how often do we ask them how they feel? This lapse is something that I’m guilty of as well.
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In the Quran (9:71), Surat At-Tawbah states, “The believing men and believing women are allies of one another. They enjoin what is right and forbid what is wrong and establish prayer and give zakah and obey Allah and His Messenger. Those — Allah will have mercy upon them. Indeed, Allah is Exalted in Might and Wise.” The equality of men and women in terms of human and Islamic values is stated in Islam, but is it really implemented in society?
But a change is underway, one that I’ve noticed in my own family as well. It could be because of greater awareness among men, the ease of availability of food in the market, and a shift in eating habits, with many people not eating as much as they might have earlier.
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Yet, the evolution is slow, and the struggle continues. It is worthwhile to stop and think about how the burden of a more grueling social and spiritual calendar is distributed within the household — an examination that need not be exclusive to Muslim households.
The words of Noor-us-Saba, one of the women I spoke to — “khidmat se khuda milta hai” (Through service, one finds Allah) — resonate deeply, especially in a month like Ramazan. Service is not just about preparing food or fulfilling basic duties — it is about celebration of shared responsibility, the kind that can only flourish when we recognise the honour and the labour of those who often go unseen.
The writer is a chef and the author, most recently, of Masalamandi: A Guide to the World of Indian Spice Blends
