The Dairy Game_09-07-2025_A Night to Remember: Football Frenzy, Chadrat Party Pandemonium, and Eid-ul-Adha Celebration

Hello

Steemians
I'm @mhsnrasel from Bangladesh.

Assalamualaikum alaikum everyone. Welcome to my another blog. In this blog I'm going to share with you a memorable day of my life.

June 9, 2025

Sun sets on our village skyline, and tension is palpable. Eid-ul-Adha, the Islamic Festival of Sacrifice, arrives tomorrow a day from today, and tension seethes like the wood which would be used in our signature kebabs. To a non-Muslim, Eid-ul-Adha is Islam's most holy festival, when Prophet Ibrahim (Abraham) demonstrated such unshakeable faith in Allah that he proceeded to sacrifice his son, only for Allah to descend and replace him with a ram. It's a week of mad religiosity, thanksgiving, and riot mania—prayer, charity, and loads and loads of meat, yes, so a meat lover will cry tears of happiness. But let's proceed first and get a glimpse of the main bash's star on June 7, 2025. Meanwhile, I'd love to walk you through the entire rollercoaster day of June 6—a battle of football, market chaos, and a "Chadrat party" that will be village folklore. Hold your hats close, for this one is for the books!

The Calm Before the Storm: The Preparations for the Day

It all started when my team—yes, let's just call them the Village VIPs, a group of my closest friends who have been making a big noise with me since we were young kids—informed us that on Eid-ul-Adha we were going to do something very big. We conserve our energy for the Eid night where we have one gigantic Chadrat party (scroll down), but June 6, 2025, wasn't one of those nights. My village children, the spoiled brats who believed they were the new Ronaldo, had invited me over for a bit of football. I wasn't Messi, but as the loudest and possibly delusional fella in the group, I was appointed team captain. The challenge had been made, and we weren't going to let these children defeat us.

The match was at 4:00 PM on the 6th of June, and we had barely enough time to psyche ourselves up and ensure our sneakers weren't clogged with last week's monsoon mud. The plan was straightforward: play the match, bask in our glory, and then begin planning for our Chadrat party stargazing. We didn't know that this day would be a belly-laugh extravaganza of sweat and some less-than-glam dance moves.

The Big Face-Off: 4:00 Game

We get to the field at 4:00 on the dot, which is really just a patch of hard grass and two rickety goalposts rather than a stadium. It still had a little of the heat of the sun, the air thick with dust and anticipation, and there was a small crowd—a few of our uncles, a few of our cousins, and one rather lost goat who kept straying into the penalty box. The competition, those guys, came in with all the swagger of a TikTok dance crew, jerseys draped over their shoulders somehow, and hair gel aplenty. Our team—once more, officially let's name ourselves the "Seasoned Stallions"—had experience, drive, and a wild card: cousin Jamal's off-the-chain energy (below).

As captain, I gave them a half-Bruce's Braveheart, half-Friday sermon pep talk. "Boys," I told them, "today we play for honour, for Eid, and for bragging rights at every family dinner for the next twelve months!" They cheered, not least because I promised them extra kebabs afterwards. The whistle dropped, and game on.

The first half was a whirlwind of chaos. The kids were running around left and right like they'd been given a liter of Red Bull, but we weren't fazed. Our goalie Rahim, my buddy, was an impenetrable fortress, batting shots away like he was auditioning to play Superman. I batted the first on a shot that I have to admit I only did because of natural ability, and the fans (all right, half of our family's cousins) went wild. Halftime, and we were 1-0 ahead, but the kids were already sweating—physically and emotionally.

The second half was when things hot up. The kids fired away guns blazing, but we came back at them. My tank of a friend Tariq netted our second goal with a header that shook the goalpost viciously menacingly. Then, in the eleventh hour, I directed the ball to our wild card player Jamal, somehow mysteriously tripped, staggered and fainted the third ball into the net. Final score: 0-3, Seasoned Stallions win! The children were left agog, the goat yawned open-mouthed and the rest of us were wining like World Cup champions. High-fives and back-slaps and an ironic lap of the field (which in all seriousness was us just taking turns not falling over the same goat) were it. At 6:30 PM, we were champions, covered in sweat, and famished for whatever else our day of triumph had in store for us.

Amlabi Bazar Quest: The 7:00 PM Adventure

No slacking time fresh off winning at football. Our Chadrat festival, our Eid festival in our village, was calling us and it needed to be organized. It was about 7:00 PM, and we loaded two rickshaws with all our gear and headed for Amlabi Bazar, the throbbing marketplace which is the economic nerve of our night life economy of the village. If you have absolutely no idea what a rural bazaar looks or feels like, imagine a crazy mix of colour stalls, honking auto-rickshaws, and aunties wheeling around their lives. It's thudding, it's crazy, and it's brilliant.

Our task was a question of sheer convenience: venture out and purchase all that which we'd require for the Chadrat party—meat, spices, rice, snacks, and so much cola that we'd be soaring till midnight. But buy with my boys and it is no cakewalk. Rahim would insist on examining every tomato like he was on MasterChef, and Tariq was distracted by a beady string of plastic Ray-Bans.

Classic Jamal. In all the hubbub, we even went shopping for everything: fresh mutton to prepare kebabs, pungent spices to prepare biryani, and hill-load of sweets that would leave the dentist weeping. We even purchased some fairy lights so that our party arrangements looked like they had gone insane planning. We reached the village at 10:00 PM, arms full of shopping bags, hearts thumping with anticipation. The return journey in the rickshaw was also a laugh riot, with Tariq experimenting with a Bollywood song and standing up to only half of the lines.

I think the driver even thought of leaving us on the road.

Chadrat Party Extravaganza: 10:30 PM to 1:30 AM

The Chadrat party was already in full swing at 10:30 PM. For those who are unaware, a Chadrat party is our village's way of doing Eid with bang. It's an evening of dining, laughing, and socializing with the nighttime sky to stars in the black, with an added dash of rightfully unruly pandemonium. We car camped in an open courtyard, spooling out that fairy light set we bought (which, for measure, looked more like a fire hazard than celebratory treat).

The aroma of fried kebabs and biryani on the stove filled the air, and our makeshift stereo was filled with halal music—nasheeds switching back and forth between some play-it-cool pop that wouldn't offend the elders. We prayed a dua together, thanking Allah for all the blessings and for making us one family.The Quran reminds us in Surah Al-Hajj (22:36):

"And the camels and cattle We have appointed for you as among the symbols of Allah; for you therein is good."
The reminder that what we were sacrificing on Eid was good was such a wonderful way to begin the night.

We also thought about keeping some of the food and meat outside to be shared with the neighbors and poor individuals the following day, as charity.

And then food. Oh, food! The kebabs were soft, the biryani so pungent it could've been the centerfold of a fragrance commercial, and the sweets—gulab jamun, jalebi, and that one sweet thing Rahim's mom had brought over whose name I never managed to learn—were divine. We devoured it as if we'd gone months without food, plates spinning around and competing with each other to get the last mutton. Spoiler alert: me, since captains are V.I.P.s.

The real entertainment, however, was Jamal. This little boy had in his mind that it was his turn to have a turn and attempted to perform a dance that was half Michael Jackson, half flailing chicken. He tripped over a chair, spilled an open soda bottle on the floor, and just continued dancing. We laughed so loudly that I'm sure the neighbors must have thought we were the devil. And with the food, music, and stand-up comedy by Jamal, the evening was pure magic. And we shared stories too—some old village foolishness, some old Eid jokes, and some outrageously outlandish tall tales of our past football win. Tariq told me that he caught one of the children crying later on after the game, but I am sure he did it for drama. At 1:30 AM, biryani was done, soda went flat, and we were that disoriented, mad universe that you find yourself in when you've had too much biryani and did not quite get enough rest.

We stumbled in at 2:00 AM, reeling home with full bellies and full hearts, vowing to trounce next year's Chadrat bash (and possibly even produce a choreographer for Jamal).

Wrapping Up the Day: Memories That Last June 6, 2025, was one for the ages.

From the adrenaline of our 3-0 football victory to the chaos of Amlabi Bazar and the pure joy of the Chadrat party, it was a day filled with laughter, faith, and the kind of moments you’ll be talking about at every family gathering for years.

As Eid-ul-Adha draws near, thank you to my boys, my village, and being able to do so with regard for our religion and regard for our desire to have a good time.

Viva Eid-ul-Adha 2025—let it be with joy, blessings, and hopefully a chance to school those youngbucks on the soccer field. And Jamal, bro, let us practice those moves so we can bring it next year's party, yea?

Halal it, hot it, and spirits high!

— Your Village Captain

--- Note: Do do ask me to add more info, change the jokes around, or reference some Islamic things or village legend if you'd like. I can also suggest images or build a picture for this blog, if you'd like. Just let me know how you'd like to publish this masterpiece! ???