“Turn a different corner and we never would have met…” sang George Michael.

“That always reminds me of Eid!” I confessed.

“That’s quite the non sequitur there, Shihab,” George might’ve said.

Of all the beautiful traditions that go with Eid, the one that’s always stayed with me – not too dramatic to claim it shaped my life, even – is a lesser-known habit practiced by the Prophet M. Every Eid, he would encourage his followers to take a different route home to the one that led to the mosque. Since the day I started walking on my own, anywhere I went, I’ve always gone back another, often random way, thereby perfecting the art of getting lost – the joy of ‘eventually finding my way’ forming the end of each chapter of my life. It was by walking into an unfamiliar pub to ask for directions that I met a new love. Bumping into an old friend on an unfamiliar street that led to fresh adventures. Witnessing a scene in a strange part of town that fired the inspiration for the next big creative venture.  

Because this Eid is all about enjoying the outcome of a journey to its fullest. For the past month, Muslims the world over have been observing Ramadan, in a concerted effort to change their ways, denying themselves their usual joys of the material world, and also to physically empathise with the needy by going without food and water during the hours of sunlight – no mean feat in countries where the sun pours down like melted ghee.

I won’t spoil the mood by reminding you some, in particular those in Gaza, have been deliberately starved, but today, the fortunate ones will be surrounded by their loved ones, dressed in their finest threads, opening presents, feasting on the food of goddesses… and hugging.

The hugging is a custom that’s always struck a chord with me. I turned 18 at the height of the rave generation (I still haven’t quite hung up my dancing trainers), and in all those heady nights I must’ve hugged more strangers than there are trees in a National Park. Fair to say I’ve always been a guy who needs a cuddle now and then. My family aren’t the most tactile of people – I grew up greeting the extended members with a salaam (a salute of sorts to one’s forehead), or with elder relatives, bowing down to touch their feet. But come Eid, we’d be in mosques heaving with strangers – the Baitul Mukarram mosque we used to go to in Dhaka, Bangladesh, has a capacity of 42,000 – where, once the prayers are done, everyone throws their arms around one another. (I’ve had my only hugs with my father on Eid, and my bones still itch for them whenever he settles for a wave on any other day.) Still, it’s a beautiful thing. This embracing of strangers teaches Muslim kids they’re not alone – we are all one, part of a global community, come together, right now.

Those who have never set foot in a mosque may imagine them as being deathly serious places where bearded men mutter their oath to bring forth Jihad upon the world or whatnot, but in any mosque anywhere in the world, everyone treats one another with the utmost courtesy, letting others pass without a push or a shove, shuffling along to make space.

For all the unfair reputation Muslim men have of being violent, consider this: there are around 3.6 million mosques in the world, each gathering worshippers five times a day, yet a fight never breaks out. How many pubs or clubs full of men can you say that about?

(And, yes, we need to address the fact that women do not stand shoulder-to-shoulder with the men, but most mosques nowadays have a dedicated women-only section, and they are treated with absolute respect.)

Then follows the parties. In stark contrast to, say, Christmas, where most families spend it only with their closest members, Eid celebrations see anyone who knows anyone visit everyone. Back in Bangladesh, being well-to-do and thus divinely obliged by Zakar al-Fitr to share our wealth on Eid day, we used to have the entire neighbourhood drop by. The people-pleasing rush I still get from helping others was popped in me as a child, while handing out salty snacks and sweet treats to the slum kids, all hailing me as some kind of angel.

Since moving to England, I’d say on average we had around eighty visitors every Eid, all bringing a sweet or savoury offering (not that they needed to – my mum always cooks enough to feed the proverbial 5,000).

And, oh the fun we have! Another misconception many have of Muslims is that we’re a serious bunch, yoyo-ing between feelings of anger and victimisation, but the high jinks we get up to on Eid is off the scale.

I’ve been to my unfair share of house parties, clubs, bars and, in my entertainment media days, a whole host of soirees, and I guarantee you’ll never find a roomful of sober people generating more laughter than in a Muslim household on Eid day.

Everyone gets silly, sharing their most amusing anecdotes, my highlight being the moment my mum laughs so hard her head spins and we all briefly think she’s having a heart attack.

This morning, my family will be having their first breakfast in a month – oh, the square parathas and egg kalia my mum will be preparing! Along with millions upon millions of Muslims all over the world, they will head for a mosque to praise their maker, wave their hands in the air, embrace one another and let the party begin.

I’ve gained my freedom from the shackles of the religion, distanced myself from the family at large, but this is the one day where I wish I was surrounded by all the things Eid brings. Out here in Barcelona, I don’t know any Muslims I could spend it with, nor are there any official mosques I could go to touch base, maybe get myself a hug from a stranger.

It feels sad to prepare an Eid feast myself, and bless my Hindu-born atheist wife for always offering to make me a curry on this day, but it’s not quite the same. I prefer to go out and dine somewhere where there are Muslims celebrating, see if I can feed off their merriment. Today, I’ll head towards the Muslim part of El Raval, following no particular route, to find a place I like the look of at random.

“Turn a different corner and we never would have ate,” I might say to George.

“I do want your Eid-poppa-dom, I do want to play around…” George might sing in return.

Yup. I’m that sad.

Eid Mubarak everyone!

Buy me a pint if you like x