T he recent row over ‘I Love Mohammad’ made me think of my own upbringing in the Barelvi Muslim community. Barawafat, also known as Mawlid, Milad-un-Nabi, or simply the Prophet’s birthday, was a season of warmth. Neighbourhoods came alive in ways that stay with you. Streets would glow with strings of lights, temporary arches were built with great care, and beautiful displays were set up to mark the occasion. Men and women would gather for processions and night-long prayers.

Then there were the relics—sacred objects carrying the weight of both history and faith—put on display for all to see, filling people with reverence and respect. For a child, it felt magical, as if faith was not only something private but something shared, lived, and visible. Looking back, it wasn’t just about ritual;

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