Eid feasts are now distant memories, but Eidiya envelopes are unforgettable

Desi kids grow up knowing that Eid means not just new clothes and rich food, but also some cash.

Eid has come and gone. The festive clothes have been laundered and put away. The Eid feasts become distant memories. Henna patterns have faded.

The one thing that lingers on, though, is the Eidiya: the token gift of cash that everyone is expected to dole out to siblings and cousins, nieces and nephews.

Come Eid, the children seem to be everywhere, and they seem to have never been gladder to see you.

While the rule of thumb is “the closer the relation, the fatter the envelope”, you don’t even have to be related to expect Eidiya. You just have to be younger than the person doling it out.

Desi kids grow up knowing that Eid means not just new clothes and lots of rich food, but also the obligatory bank run to get a fat wad of crisp Dh10 bills to distribute to the neighbourhood kids who congregate outside your main door at this time of year. I know, because I was one of them.

Every Eid, freshly bathed and kitted out in my festive best, my first mission right through to my tweens used to be to make the rounds of my neighbourhood with my best friend before all the money was distributed and there was none left.

Strategising was very important. We knew pretty much what to expect from which neighbour. The most generous uncles and aunties would be our first stop. We would make sure to call and collect before they ran out of money (and patience). The less generous neighbours could wait.

And there were several houses that weren’t even worth visiting – all that would be waiting for us was a nicely laid table. But we didn’t want food. We wanted cash.

There was a good reason this neighbourhood run was so important: it was the only Eidiya we could expect to keep.

As for the cash gifted by the many relatives who would visit our home, our parents took it all.

Let me explain: in a typical desi set-up, the children can pretty much expect to never see any of that money. Mothers oversee all gift-giving with hawk eyes and – at the end of the day – the money is taken for “safekeeping”, never to be seen by the kids again.

And so mums make a killing over Eid. Right about now, they are all flush with cash gifted to their children, and put it to good use for shopping trips.

That’s unlike the rest of us, who don’t have kids and therefore aren’t splurging on new shoes and make-up post-Eid.

I am one of these women, and I make it a point not to give the children cash anymore.

One, because presents are more personal and thoughtful; and two, because I love seeing the looks on mothers’ faces when I give their kids a box of chocolates or a toy instead of an envelope full of dirhams.

The writer is an honest-to-goodness desi living in Dubai