Eid ul Adha: More than meat, deeper than feast

If you haven’t had a cow block your car or a goat stare into your soul in the past week, are you even in the right place this Eid?

Yes, it’s that time of the year again — when our Instagram feed turns into a full-blown livestock fashion show, and every street corner features sacrificial animals be it goats, cows, sheep, or camels.

While Eid ul Fitr is all about bangles, mehndi, and the sugar rush from sheer khurma, Eid ul Adha is all about meat — from choosing and buying a sacrificial animal to cooking, storing, and sharing the meat. Everything else takes a backseat.

The real festivities kick off weeks in advance with the "Bakra liya? [Did you buy a goat?)", "gaye ya bakra? [Cow or goat?]", "kitne mein liya? [How much did it cost you?]" — a crucial question, "bakray kitne mehngay ho gaye hain? [How expensive the goats have become!]".

But before all the meaty drama kicks off, it’s time for the sacred pre-Eid ritual: endless home cleaning. Suddenly, those cobwebs on the fans that everyone ignored before become a domestic emergency. With this Eid, in particular, the grand cleansing of the refrigerator is a must. Preparing your refrigerator to store the meat is a revered chore, after all, it should be worthy of stocking half the neighbourhood's meat.

Though some are quick to choose an animal for sacrifice, wanting to keep it close and feed it before Eid, for others the hunt for a perfect animal drags on until the very last minute — because why pick early when you can bargain, panic, and buy under pressure? Men browse the mandis [cattle markets] day and night, turning livestock shopping into a full-blown adventure sport.

Also, you’ll spot mini maweshi markets popping up at every corner, because some beoparis [traders] literally roam the streets with their animals — hoping to catch a buyer on the go. That’s the real charm of Bakra Eid: it’s not just the official mandis, but everywhere you turn, you’ll find some quoting animal prices, while others bargaining like pros, turning sidewalks into negotiation hubs.

Meanwhile, the kids are living their best lives — parading their animals like show ponies, forming instant street gangs, and passionately bragging about whose sacrificial animal is bigger, taller, more beautiful, or more expensive.

"Yeh chaar daant wala hai [This one has four teeth.]", "yeh Australian hai [This one’s Australian.]"

The obsession men have with the sacred do-daant wala bakra [two-toothed goat] — the mighty donda [strong two-toother] — is real. From kids to adults, everyone stays busy decking out their animals with all kinds of glow-up accessories, as if prepping a celebrity for "Cow-ture Week".

If something’s in high demand and doesn’t get expensive in Pakistan — well, that would be a miracle. As Eid approaches, even tomatoes suddenly remember their worth and start acting pricey. That’s why people now stock up and freeze them days before Eid ul Adha as if it were some sort of black-market currency.

On chhoti Eid [Eid ul Fitr], the only stress is dealing with the tailor. But on Bari Eid, you get the double privilege of handling tantrums from both the darzis [tailors] and the qasais [butchers]. Even if, by some miracle, you manage to book one, there is no guarantee he will show up on time.

To be satisfied with a butcher on Bakra Eid is almost impossible — someone in the house is always bound to be unhappy: "Isne gosht theek se nahi banaya. [He didn’t cut the meat properly.]"

Just like the rainy season brings out the barsaati mendak [seasonal frogs], Bakra Eid unleashes an entire army of mousami qasais [seasonal butchers]. Suddenly, you will find amateurs wielding knives and offering their “expert” services. Every year, countless families end up sacrificing not just animals — but also their precious meat, thanks to these self-declared qasais. Let’s all take a moment to pray: may we be spared from these meat-murdering laymen this year. Ameen.

“What to wear on Eid?” is one of the most agonising questions for women every year. But let’s be honest, does it even matter? Because no matter how stunning your Eid outfit is, you’ll end up spending an eternity in a sweltering kitchen, cooking kaleji [liver] and phephray [lungs] for breakfast — right after the Qurbani [sacrifice] is done. And just when you think you're done, it’s time to whip up another meaty dish for lunch... and then again for dinner. As for the kind of glam boys get on bakra eid; it’s the classic combo of banyan and shalwar because for one day many of them transform into part-time qasais.

And let’s not forget the "breathtaking" stench that fills our homes and streets — with waste scattered across the roads, adding to the festive "decor."

Bakra Eid is also incomplete without the familiar screams of "Unki gaye bhaag gayi! [their cow has run away!] — followed by the classic sight of a cow sprinting down the road, with half the neighbourhood chasing after it.

Another classic Bakra Eid sight: the pop-up chara [fodder] shops everywhere you look. Almost every shopkeeper suddenly turns into a fodder-monger. Doesn’t matter if their usual business is selling phone covers, you’ll see them proudly sitting behind stalls of chara like they’ve been in the trade for generations.

When it’s time for Qurbani, you’ll also spot different kids in action. The emotional ones — heartbroken at the thought of their beloved animal being sacrificed. The thrill-seekers, hanging from terraces and peeking through windows, watching the Qurbani like it’s a live-action movie. And finally, the conflicted ones — watching with wide eyes while also low-key terrified of all the blood and chaos.

Another VIP guest of Bakra Eid is the “plastic shopping bag” (officially banned at many places but never vanishing) — playing a crucial role during the festivities. Once the meat is collected, the real mission begins — sorting mutton and beef into separate packets: some for freezing (to last an eternity), and some for distribution. Every year, there’s a solemn vow not to mix up the beef and mutton — and yet, a few days later, like clockwork, no one remembers which packet was which.

The most depressing thing about Bakra Eid is that — not only do you not get any Eidi, but to top it off, your mom decides that every meal for the entire week must revolve strictly around meat. Morning, noon, and night — it’s just gosht, gosht, and more gosht. A culinary hostage situation!

We practically honour every piece of the sacrificial animal. From siri to paye, we don’t even spare the tongue or the brain. And of course, how can we forget the glorious ojhri [intestine] — “delicious” to some, “bleh” to others?

Then comes the barbecue phase, celebrated with full zeal in almost every city of Pakistan a few days after Eid. It’s practically a national festival at this point. Thanks to the excessive dedication to "overeating meat", a visit to the hospital often becomes part of the Eid tradition too.

Well, maybe not entirely — but this festival has definitely changed a little. For instance, in some housing societies, certain meat businesses now offer Qurbani services where you pay a fixed amount, and in return, they perform the sacrifice and hand you over the meat. Some even deliver it at your doorstep. This practice is becoming more and more popular in elite or upscale areas.

Unlike other festivities, including Eid ul Fitr, which have gradually digitised and stripped of their soul over time, Bakra Eid somehow still embodies the warmth, traditions, and chaos we grew up with. In times like these, we should truly cherish what we have — because in the end, it’s the memories that stay with us. These choti choti khushiyan [little joys] are more important than ever in this fast-paced, exhausting world. Hold on to them — they mean more than we realise.