Sanaroonjha
Known
- Messages
- 184
- Reaction score
- 652
- Points
- 93
Until the 1980s and 1990s, preparations for Eid-ul-Fitr included a quiet yet heartwarming tradition — buying Eid cards. It was a time when emotions did not travel through a “send” button, but through the ink of a pen. As soon as the moon of Ramadan appeared, another wave of colors would descend upon the markets. Alongside clothes and bangles, stalls of Eid cards would light up, as if happiness itself had taken the form of paper.
Seasonal vendors would set up their temporary shops. In neighborhoods and streets, cards displayed in neat rows on woven cots would call out to children and young people, as if each card carried a hidden secret within. “Eid Mubarak” written in golden letters, a shining crescent in a blue sky, mosque minarets, or the smiling face of a film star — every card held its own unique story.
As the days of fasting passed, the crowds in the markets grew larger. Young people would carefully select cards — one special design for a close friend, a more elegant one for a fiancée, and a simple yet dignified card for elders. The joy of saving pocket money to buy these cards was perhaps greater than the pleasure found today in expensive gifts.
Then there were the memorable scenes outside post offices, where people stood in long queues to send their Eid cards. The postal department would formally announce the deadline to ensure cards arrived before Eid. How carefully addresses were written on envelopes — fearing a single mistake might mislead the postman.
The message written inside an Eid card carried a world of its own. Simple verses, innocent sentences, and a signature at the end:
“May your nights be bright like the moonlight,
May every word you speak be fragrant with the joys of Eid!”
There was little pretense in those words, but abundant sincerity. When the recipient opened the envelope, it wasn’t just paper that unfolded — it was memories of the sender. Many families preserved these cards for years, as if they were not mere pieces of paper but treasured tokens of relationships.
Then time changed. The internet and mobile phones gathered the world into the palms of our hands. Now, an Eid greeting reaches hundreds of people in a single moment. Images, videos, stickers — everything is available. Convenience has its place, but where is the sweetness of waiting? Where is the sound of the postman’s footsteps? Where is the fragrance of handwritten lines?
Even today, when an old, yellowed Eid card emerges from a forgotten box, it feels as though the past has gently called out. The scent of paper, the stroke of ink, and the honesty of emotions together remind us that relationships are never deleted — they are simply preserved in the cupboard of memories.
Eid cards were a cultural tradition. They taught us that to share happiness, a message alone is not enough — intention and effort matter too.
The era that has passed was certainly beautiful. Yet perhaps even today, if we wish, we can write a card and bring that same smile to someone’s face. Because true Eid is about connecting hearts — whether written on paper or glowing on a screen.
Seasonal vendors would set up their temporary shops. In neighborhoods and streets, cards displayed in neat rows on woven cots would call out to children and young people, as if each card carried a hidden secret within. “Eid Mubarak” written in golden letters, a shining crescent in a blue sky, mosque minarets, or the smiling face of a film star — every card held its own unique story.
As the days of fasting passed, the crowds in the markets grew larger. Young people would carefully select cards — one special design for a close friend, a more elegant one for a fiancée, and a simple yet dignified card for elders. The joy of saving pocket money to buy these cards was perhaps greater than the pleasure found today in expensive gifts.
Then there were the memorable scenes outside post offices, where people stood in long queues to send their Eid cards. The postal department would formally announce the deadline to ensure cards arrived before Eid. How carefully addresses were written on envelopes — fearing a single mistake might mislead the postman.
The message written inside an Eid card carried a world of its own. Simple verses, innocent sentences, and a signature at the end:
“May your nights be bright like the moonlight,
May every word you speak be fragrant with the joys of Eid!”
There was little pretense in those words, but abundant sincerity. When the recipient opened the envelope, it wasn’t just paper that unfolded — it was memories of the sender. Many families preserved these cards for years, as if they were not mere pieces of paper but treasured tokens of relationships.
Then time changed. The internet and mobile phones gathered the world into the palms of our hands. Now, an Eid greeting reaches hundreds of people in a single moment. Images, videos, stickers — everything is available. Convenience has its place, but where is the sweetness of waiting? Where is the sound of the postman’s footsteps? Where is the fragrance of handwritten lines?
Even today, when an old, yellowed Eid card emerges from a forgotten box, it feels as though the past has gently called out. The scent of paper, the stroke of ink, and the honesty of emotions together remind us that relationships are never deleted — they are simply preserved in the cupboard of memories.
Eid cards were a cultural tradition. They taught us that to share happiness, a message alone is not enough — intention and effort matter too.
The era that has passed was certainly beautiful. Yet perhaps even today, if we wish, we can write a card and bring that same smile to someone’s face. Because true Eid is about connecting hearts — whether written on paper or glowing on a screen.
