THIS weekend is the Big One. After 30 days of dawn to dusk fasting, Scotland’s Muslims would usually go into overdrive with a frenzy of food, a festival of family and friends and a veritable catwalk of sparkly new clothes.

Normally at Eid we would gorge on the biryani, party the night away in squeaky new shoes, and partake in a good swally of Irn Bru. The mosques would vibrate with the sounds of prayers and we would count up the people in our household and for each person we would donate a sum of money to charity.

Grandparents would wipe tears of joy from their eyes as they watch kids line up in their finery for Eid money, also known as “Eidi”, which the kids get when they wish their elders “Eid Mubarak”. Harassed mums and dads would be setting tables for at least 20 whilst keeping an eye on that marinated leg of lamb in the oven, and having an argument with someone in Wolverhampton: “What do you mean, they huvnae seen the new moon in Pakistan yet? We’ve seen it here, so it’s Eid. End of!”

This year will be different. The mosques will remain shuttered and the closest many families will get to seeing loved ones will feel like a gangster movie drive-by scene, where some of the cousins will cruise by the house with the windows down pumping out the latest Bollywood soundtrack, waving glittery scarves out the windows. Grandparents will be lined up on a Zoom screen, their stress levels elevating as they spend the entire time shouting in a Punjabi/Scottish hybrid: “Is this working? It’s not working. This computer doesn’t work. Why did you give me a computer that disnae work?”

That special moment of Eidy joy for the children will be lost – £20 through PayPal or a bank transfer don’t quite create the same magic, and presents will be delivered by an army of men in high vis jackets in white vans.

Now, some of us are more into the whole Eid thing than others. We’re a wide spectrum with some following every Eid tradition to the letter and others who, quite frankly, are only here for the Eidi. For those for whom it’s a big deal the effects of lockdown are going to be hard to mitigate. When you’ve been fasting for 30 days, the thought of three days of feasting on the most delicious spice-infused curries, and trays of unctuous deserts at a different person’s house every day gives you something to look forward to in a way that the intermittent fasting diet can’t even begin to promise.

But lockdown has also provided a solution to one of the most intractable couple arguments known. This year there will be no eating two enormous banquets as a way of solving the question of whose parents’ house Eid is spent at. There’s something quite comforting about having to operate within a set of rules which no sexual politics can over-rule.

Even family politics for most will have to take a back seat to the rules. In many Muslim households elders are hugely respected and it would take a lot to pick a fight with one. But when, like me, your overly-optimistic but lonely octogenarian father is making plans for an Eid that involve a feast, albeit ordered from a restaurant, to be enjoyed by all of us from different households, albeit in his garden, the desire to protect him overrides the sadness at hearing his voice crumple on the phone when you tell him that lockdown restrictions are still in place.

I’m just a little bit worried that some folk might not be able to persuade family members that this Eid has to be different. Watching the First Minister’s statement in the Scottish Parliament yesterday where she outlined the roadmap out of lockdown, which would begin next Thursday, I could imagine some families using a combination of wishful thinking, selective listening and jumping the gun to translate phrases like “careful reduction in lockdown restrictions” and “meet members of one other household, but outdoors” to paaaartaaaay. But I’d say ca'canny. Be careful.

We’ve been through a lot. There’s been great sadness as we’ve lost so many members of the community, and many of our loved ones are frontline workers who we worry about.

And we’ve laughed, too. We know that social distancing is basically every devout Muslim’s idea of heaven, and the guidance to cover your face has raised more than a smile on many a Muslim woman’s face.

Neighbours who were strangers have clapped together, smiled and talked to one another on their doorsteps. We’ve all been given permission to show our similarities, our humanity and our fragilities.

Let’s leave the Big One until next year and then really go mad wi’ it.