Collection: Eid Ka Pehgaam
On those early Eids, our parents celebrated in a quiet, unfamiliar world. They were the first generation to leave Pakistan behind, stepping into countries where no crescent moons shimmered in shop windows, no fairy lights glowed for Eid, and no strangers greeted them with “Eid Mubarak.” The streets looked the same as any other day, but inside our small homes, hearts ached with longing and hope.
In the days before Eid, a cassette recorder would appear on the table like something sacred. One by one, our parents would lean in, pressing the red record button, and begin their pehgaam - their message home. Their voices were gentle, careful, full of love. They would wish everyone Eid Mubarak, ask about the wellness of the neighbourhood, the health of elders, the laughter of nieces and nephews. They would share milestones - a new job, a child’s first steps, the cold winters and long summers of this strange new world. With nothing but words, they painted pictures for those listening thousands of miles away.
As children, we would watch and listen, not fully understanding why our parents’ voices trembled, or why their eyes glistened. We didn’t know yet what it meant to miss a home that lived inside your heart. We didn’t understand the tears being held back, the lump in the throat, the courage it took to sound cheerful when loneliness sat heavy in the room.
The cassette would be recorded well in advance so it could reach Pakistan on time for Eid. It was precious, irreplaceable. We would walk together to the post office, clutching that small tape like a treasure. It would be slipped into a powder blue airmail envelope, edged with red and navy, covered in postage stamps. One of us children would write the address in broken English, and one of the adults would carefully write it again in beautiful Urdu. Before dropping it into the post box, a quiet prayer would be whispered: Ya Allah, is pehgaam ko khairyat se pohcha dena - please let this message arrive safely.
Then came the waiting. Weeks. Sometimes months. And finally, one day, another cassette would arrive from Pakistan. The whole family would gather around the player, hearts racing. The tape would click into place. Static. A familiar voice.
“Umeed kartay hu, sub khairyat se hai… tumhara pehgaam mil gaya tha… Khair Mubarak.”
“I hope you are well. I got your message. Khair Mubarak.”
Tears would roll down our parents’ faces, silently at first, then freely. Bittersweet happiness filled the room as they listened to answers to all the questions they had asked weeks before. It felt like a reunion, a bridge built from sound and love. Once the cassette ended, it would be rewound and played over and over again.
Today, messages travel in seconds. Video calls connect us instantly. But those old cassette tapes held something deeper - patience, longing, devotion, and a love that crossed oceans.
This collection celebrates Eid Ka Pehgaam - the spirit of those messages. It is for everyone who celebrates Eid far from home, who knows the diaspora dilemma of missing family, of delayed gifts, of bittersweet joy. It is a tribute to our parents’ journeys and their words that kept families stitched together.
We now share our Pehgaam with you - because no matter where you are in the world, Eid is still a message of love.