By Peer Mohammad Amir Qureshi

Ramazan is a month of divine mercy, the crown jewel of all months, when the heavens seem to draw closer to the earth. Not long ago, its arrival would bring a palpable shift in the air—a blend of joy and reverence, hope and self-accountability. The mere mention of its approach would stir even the most heedless hearts. A week before its onset, the atmosphere would transform: streets would quieten, hearts would soften, and even those entangled in sin would feel the weight of Allah’s gaze, prompting a longing for redemption.

In those days, every Muslim—no matter how distant from faith—would make a sincere resolve: “I must abandon my bad deeds. I must refrain from them.” Watching movies, listening to music, using abusive language, and exploiting others for profit—these vices would be cast aside, if only for this sacred month. The air itself carried a divine urgency, a call to purify, to repent, to rise.

But now, as I look around, I am struck by a painful truth: that Ramazan, that sacred transformation, seems to have faded. The mosques may be fuller, and the streets may echo with Quranic recitations, yet the hearts within them remain unchanged. The essence of Ramazan—its call to self-discipline, its demand for spiritual reckoning—seems buried under the weight of our distractions.

Have We Traded Reflection for Rituals?

We fast from dawn to dusk, abstaining from food and drink, yet we indulge in lies, gossip, and greed. We stand in prayer, our foreheads touching the ground in a gesture of humility, yet our minds remain entangled in the endless scroll of social media, the fleeting allure of entertainment, and the ceaseless distractions of a world that refuses to pause.

Have we turned Ramazan into a mere cycle of hunger and thirst rather than a season of spiritual rejuvenation? Do we fast only to satisfy tradition rather than transform our hearts? The Prophet (peace be upon him) said, “Indeed, Allah does not look at your appearances or wealth, but........

© Kashmir Observer