Ramadan: The capitalist edition

2026-03-04 - 22:14

LET’S imagine a situation. The call to Maghrib prayer has just faded. In the soft glow of an aesthetically pleasing coffee shop in the capital of Pakistan, a young woman arranges her Iftar perfectly. Dates at one o’clock, samosa at three, the caramel frappe with its artful drizzle positioned to catch the light. She clicks a photo, applies a filter, and within minutes, it is live with the hashtags #RamzanVibes #IftarGoals #Blessed. Thirty feet away, in the service alley a man is sitting on an upturned crate. He has washed dishes in this cafe’s kitchen for seven years. His Iftar is two chapatis wrapped in newspaper, a bowl of salan, some pakoras and dates. He has exactly seventeen minutes to eat before the dinner rush. This is the first frame of a larger picture. Across the country, the holy month of Ramadan i.e. the month of restraint, of empathy, and of spiritual awakening is becoming something else. It is becoming capitalism’s most faithful month. A buffet for two at a decent restaurant costs more than a worker’s weekly wage. A “casual” Iftar outing at a specialty coffee shop with two drinks, a shared platter, a single dessert easily crosses four thousand rupees. The hashtags multiply and the reels loop. These restaurants are booked weeks in advance. Now about the baristas at such popular cafes, let’s say their shift runs from 3 PM to 3 AM. They make coffee for customers who earn in an hour what they earn in a day. They watch the customers photograph their food, complain about wait times and demand remakes. The theologian Thomas Merton wrote of “the interdependence of all these living beings, which are all part of one another.” In the Iftar economy, this interdependence is rendered invisible. There is a reason fasting exists. The Qur’an is explicit: La’allakum tattaqun, (Surah Al-Baqarah, 2:183). Hunger is the teacher. The empty stomach is meant to open the heart to the one who is always hungry. The Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) used to break his fast with a few dates or a sip of water. His generosity was legendary, but it was grounded in simplicity. “Food for two is enough for three,” he said, “and food for three is enough for four.” The logic was multiplication through inclusion and not accumulation through display. Today, the logic has flipped. We do not share, we showcase. And in the showcasing, the original purpose is dissolving. Walk into any shopping center in the final fifteen days of Ramadan. Women are seen with their clutch and shoe lists and the sound of swiping cards can be heard. Overcrowded changing rooms and children are heard screaming. Some husbands are seen waiting on the sofas, scrolling through their phones, looking quite exhausted. This is the second act of the Ramadan economy, the Eid shopping. Designer brands launch their “Eid specials” with the fanfare of a film premiere. Lawn suits, once a simple breathable fabric for Pakistan’s brutal summers is now a status symbol. A single unstitched three-piece suit from a top brand now costs between Rs.10-30k. Add the embroidery, dupatta, matching heels, clutch, bangles, along with the “statement jewellery.” Let’s ask ourselves: in this month designed to teach us empathy, are we actually learning it? The theologian and mystic Ibn Arabi wrote that “God is hidden in the heart of the one who is broken.” Not in the mall. Not in the cafe. Not in the perfectly curated photograph but in the broken heart. In the empty stomach. In the hands that wash dishes so that others may enjoy their feast. —The writer is contributing columnist, based in Islamabad.