An Eid outing with my parents' friends has been a ritual for as long as I can remember. Sometimes to the beach, sometimes (like today) to a farmhouse, the day is always somewhat similar, where the manly-men take over the kitchen (or the closest equivalent) while the women and children (of assorted ages) lounge around entertaining themselves. My dad was always head-chef on these occasions, given the fabulouslessness of his breakfast creations, his 'gang' was always willing to let him lead. He'd flip out ommellettes by the dozen (while eager cronies ran around assisting) randomly experimenting with cheese, mushrooms, sausages, minced meat (and occasionally) olives, and he would always end his kitchen escapade with a specially prepared cheese and mushroom omellette (with extra cheese, and extra-extra mushrooms) that he, and his daughter (who would hang around the sidelines taking-a-bite-of-this-and-a-bite-of-that but make sure she did not 'breakfast' just as yet) enjoyed together.
Today, as is tradition, we had the Eid picnic with my parent's friends at a farmhouse a little outside of Karachi. As always, the men served breakfast to women and children who lounged around entertaining themselves, in and out of the pool. But for the first time, there was no special cheese and mushroom ommellette waiting for me on the other side. And other than the obligatory, bite-of-this-and-a-bite-of-that, no breakfast either.
Life will never-ever be the same again, will it?