This Bakra-Eid is unlike last year’s Eid.

Just a few hours ago Mr Sheep and Mr Goat landed at our house, unwillingly, unwittingly, separated from their families, herd, tribe, caste, and nation unaware of their sacrifice that will accompany our sacrifice and together we please the creator of all of us.

Sacrificial animal being cleand.

Anyway, He, the creator, doesn’t need blood or flesh, all he needs is sincerity in intentions and our love for him, and sacrifices in His way.

No curfew, no strike, no lectures about simplicity, or how to distribute a meat or what we are striving for, what kind of society we are striving for. That all goes beneath piles of superfluous consumerism and ostentatious and opulent display of gluttony surpassing other tragedies and sacrifices. Killings, suffering, sacrifices are ceaseless but we choose to look the other way because there is so much else to look forward to! Or we need a reprieve?

The kids wait and upon catching the sight of sacred animals rushed and stopped midway to assess their twisted horns, ceaseless chewing, drooping heads, intoxicated eyes and seemingly overweight because of being unshorn – deliberately or inadvertently!

The kids’ play and talk and walk with them. They name them. They think of them as friends or guests meant to be sacrificed. They give them breakfast, serve lunch and take care of their dinner with astounding enthusiasm. They clean them and caress their face and horns. Their love for their new guests intensifies as the hour of separation and sacrifice approaches. They love the unrequited love.

The Sheep and goat seem unconcerned and go on cuddling and dropping pellet like faeces.

The streets are busy. It is now Eid. Eid morning is always unlike other mornings.
After prayers, I started tracing our personal butcher (who had several prior bookings but made me believe I’ll be first) from house to house like a mother searching her disappeared son. He forgot to keep his hasty promise as others might have snatched his memory by spewing multicoloured money. So finally I was able to know his “last seen with” and thereby I traced him and he upon catching my glimpse, nodded and assured me, “I‘ll be the next.”

He wiped his clever, scanned for me again in the crowd and started walking with an air of urgency and self –importance like an arrogant, shrewd police officer who has got a tip off about some rebels hiding somewhere with huge money as an award to slay them.

Upon reaching home our new breed and species of people that rarely have time to deal with the shit of sacred animals as they can’t take the stench wafting from goat faeces or the smell of their skin are out with their ammunition that they sustain on- waiting to post, update, comment on slaying of rebels!
But soon our sacred animals in hasty were rolled, front and back legs hobbled. Everyone crowded towards the sight as to see what it is to be slaughtered and how hot blood flows out in a land of blood – full of puddles of blood, pools of blood, whirlpools of blood, floods of blood, the blood of blood.

But new people breed and species at our home that live online and see the world from its illusionary windows had something to update. They had been posting and updating their “concerned friends” about every possible shit that has been unfolding beneath their phone. From the arrival to first trails of goat faeces to going live to selfies with sacred animals. The poor fellows were getting likes, comments on the quality of animals.

Some were provoking some by having declared they will sacrifice the cow. Stupidity and confidence is a dangerous combination!

So the update was: Currently sacrificing our sacrifice with Angel Soya and 99 others and soon they were life also. It was great and relishing! Everyone knows we can also afford.

The butcher without waiting, in a moment, had cut open jugular veins and blood splashed on our live cameras, dribbling down. We have a recording of every act in case God tomorrow choose to look the other way round. There was a fountain of blood, likes, tweets, shares, comments; everything overlapping each other.

And soon the butcher opened sacrificed animals effortlessly, skinned them up. He started cleaning their organs. Cats appeared like non-local beggars and so crows and soon Eagles started nose diving like mainstream politicians.

Eid prayers in Kashmir

Soon the meat was separated, collected and stacked.

And now decisions regarding who deserves how much was to be discussed. Rarely any social media friend will receive anything. They just deserve shares and shares of shares like general public in a hollowed out democracy- just assurances and fake and hollow promises!

Who is what? Who behaved how with us previous time deserves accordingly? The parcels of meat were packed and thus like our in laws who deserve whole thigh and liver (especially of daughters, otherwise our daughter will be teased), a local politicians stooge who save us from other stooges, hooligans and office boss who may promote me, teacher for good marks, friends for being friends who tell us pretty lies, neighbours whose pieces are assessed also, relatives but not those whom we have severed with or who didn’t send us. My Mom’s relatives deserve bigger and my fathers are assessed how they treat, and who talked how with my mother last time. My sister who recently got married deserves half of lamb. My brother’s in laws who also got married deserves only a big red stone that is often thrown at Indian forces in Kashmir. They don’t deserve a piece of liver because their piece of liver is already ours.
To send to only those who send and beware of size!

And now the question of distribution popped up? Who will distribute to whom?
Everyone prepares itself for manufactured smiles which give cramps to muscles in the evening when Mom asks who asked for tea and who insisted how much. I cram and prepare different greetings and pleasantries in my head.

Soon scooty, bikes, cycles, cars were dusted themselves up: Girls on scooty, boys on bikes, uncles in cars, grandfathers on “old cycles.” Girls need special kind of basket, so do boys (the basket should have a masculine gender or appear man like for boys and decent and sober basket for girls), uncles and grandfathers don’t care and often forget what was meant for whom and end up giving deserved to undeserved and undeserved to deserved and then realizing it back home and also since years of experience and after that first thrashing of women wing at home; how to lie to flee the wrath of home ministry.

Finally, all done and finished, someone reminded about the parcel of meat that has not been delivered to the poor neighbour who is also a relative!

And of course, my last selfie and update will be poor fellow!

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