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The rules, to nobodys surprise, are many.
Wudu has a choreography so precise and formulaic, it could put ballet dancers to shame.
You must state your intention to Allah first.
Drizzle water on to your right elbow down to your wrist, repeat with the left.
Let your wet fingers dangle over your head so water droplets find their way into your hair.
Wipe your right foot, then your left.
(Thankfully, my family strongly believes in doing the bare minimum.)
The timing of the show is charmingly suspect, too, as it dropped mere weeks before Ramadan.
(The Islamic month of fasting and restraintdefinitelyhas a lot of wudus.)
Hes clean; he showered that very morning.
Even the episodes title, Between the Toes, is an apt thesis for whatRamysets out to achieve.
You miss a step in your wudu, you start again.
My nani in Pakistanwas the first one who ever caught me sloppily flinging water onto random bits of flesh.
In those quiet moments, the ritual made sense.
I popped out only my heel, wedged my wet hand inside and swiped.
(In Sunni tradition, you must wash your feet properly with water running through each crevice.
Let us rescue you from the grips of theshaytan.
WatchingRamy, I heard in his exasperated voice my own discontent with gatekeeping ones relation to Allah.
The moment is a Muslim unifier of shared eye-rolling, commiserating, and maybe even a reluctant understanding.
Still, wudu isnt just properly washing your feet, as theTimesput it in their reviewofRamy.
Calling it merely washing reduces the import of a stranger scrubbing furiously between Ramys toes.
Instead of swimming and learning to wade pools, this was my first bond with water.
It was the first thing I was taught after Allah.
Thats five minutes I wish I couldve shared with my nani something neither one of us had seen before.
