Feeding Hunger Or Preserving Dignity? The True Purpose Of Ramadan Iftar

During this blessed month of Ramadan, as the shadows of Asr begin to fade, a peculiar restlessness spreads across the markets of Peshawar. Everyone quickens their pace, driven by a single wish: to reach home before the Azaan and sit at the dining table with their children.

Shutters are being pulled down, locks are being fastened, and the sounds of life returning to homes fill the streets. In the courtyards, children await iftar, mothers set the dining tables, and an atmosphere of prayer and gratitude fills the air.

Yet, at the same time, when the world rushes home, some young people and volunteers head out into the streets. Stalls are set up at intersections, the lids of cooking pots lift, and iftar spreads begin to take shape.

This passion, this eagerness, and the love for service are certainly admirable. It is comforting to see that empathy still lives in our society.

But when we look at the other side of this scene, several questions arise. I remember that iftar in Peshawar used to be far less showy.

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Outside hospitals, a simple water stand (sabeel) was set up for attendants, or travelers were handed dates and sherbet along the way, allowing them to break their fast with ease. There was simplicity, sincerity, and a quiet desire to earn blessings.

Today, the scene is different. Whether at Bacha Khan Chowk or Sadar, University Road, or Khyber Bazaar, it feels like a fair. Millions of rupees are spent on the streets every day. I do not oppose this charitable act, nor question anyone's intentions.

But have we ever paused to consider whether the purpose behind all this is truly being fulfilled?

Among those who sit at these tables, genuine travelers are as rare as salt in flour.

Often, the attendees include those who shirk their household responsibilities and come to eat for free.

Some addicts are present, who have no connection to fasting, and some selfish men leave their wives and children at home to enjoy rich meals themselves. This sight causes a pang of discomfort.

Even more distressing is when some people set up these tables purely for publicity.

Cameras are on, TikTok views are collected, and a modest person sitting there out of necessity averts their eyes from the lens.

They try to hide their face because, for them, this is not just iftar-it is a display of their hardship. Have we ever considered the embarrassment this causes them?

My question to all philanthropists is simple:

Wouldn't it be better to prepare a list of deserving families who do not even have two meals a day, rather than spending millions on street setups? If we quietly purchase rations and deliver them to their doorsteps, the father who now averts his eyes on the street could sit with dignity at home and share iftar with his wife and children.

The purpose of charity is not only to fill stomachs but also to preserve dignity. Instead of giving temporary relief, we must help people stand on their own feet.

During Ramadan, the unemployed could be given small opportunities for work using these resources.

Helping someone start a small business-like a fruit chat, dahi bhalla, or another venture-can allow them to earn for their family rather than sit at a street iftar.

The spirit of volunteers is indeed noble, but the approach needs to change. We must ensure that while decorating the streets, no mother or daughter remains hungry at home.

If we take the iftar spreads from the streets and deliver them to poor households, the joy of iftar will no longer be limited to intersections and men-it will spread as smiles in every home currently enduring hunger and silence. Perhaps this is the kind of service that not only fills stomachs but also nourishes hearts.

Note: This article reflects the author's personal opinion and does not necessarily represent the views of the institution.

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