goodbye twenty-twenty one

ottolenghi in islington

and just like that the year ended, more a whimper than a bang. not that it matters. new year is an artificial construct which almost never lives up to the expectations of it. it offers no neat endings or clear beginnings. it is really just another day, arriving with certainty, unbidden and uninvited. the pandemic on the other hand is a keeper of its own time, and is particularly adept at being mean spirited during the holiday season. two years of pandemic life brings with it two certainties - that the year will end and that new variants of wild character will come along just when communal time is having its moment. 

goodbye twenty-twenty

it is time that 2020 is put to bed. i say this knowing full well that its happenings have consequence for years to come. 2021 will bring more of the same. history rhymes and the stories of pandemics past tell us that this will be the worst of the season. when i shared my fears with omair a few days ago, he reminded me of the old proverb that the darkest hour is before dawn. 

here is what i want to remember of a year where there was so much to grasp at attention and so little luxury for it. omair and i welcomed this year at alexandra palace. it was a cold cold night. we had layered up and carried a thermos of chai to watch the skyline burst with spark and colour. i still remember the smell of gunpowder, the hiss, cackle and boom of the fireworks and the steam rising from our thermos. on the first day of the year omair told me that he was ready to make the move to bank vontobel in zurich. 

the season of change had begun.

goodbye twenty-eighteen

brunch at home on the first of january

i often found myself wishing that twenty eighteen would hurry itself up and end, despite knowing that a new year does not mean a neat and definitive resolution of the one past. how is it, that an even numbered year can have so odd a character? (see shake to remember if you need a reminder about the absurdity and the seriousness). the political flavour of the year was toxicity, at least as determined by the oxford dictionary which picks its word of the year as a reflection of the ‘ethos, mood, or preoccupations of the passing year, and have lasting potential as a term of cultural significance’. frankie boyle’s satirical stock-taking of the year reflected the very same sentiments, so i thought of recommending a ‘year in stuff’ as an anti-dote. but even in its materiality, it is inherently pointing fingers at the unevenness and peculiarity of the world we live in. 

goodbye twenty-seventeen

christmas lights on regent street, london

december arrives with certainty, irrespective of the tempo of the year. it cares not whether there are loose ends or unfinished business. i have come to love the closing days of the year. the turn of the seasons is a time to gather thought. it is to hold the past, present and future in hand (momentarily).

i was never one for winter. even on days of utmost brightness, i was aware that darkness would come early, culminating in the winter solstice. but following the shifts of the earth and trying to understand the seasons has changed this for me. i am drawn to winter solstice festivals and particularly love the persian ritual of shab-e-yalda when mithra, the angel of light was said to be born. it recognises the triumph of love, knowledge and light over evil. the longest and darkest night is seen out with storytelling, poetry and food with loved ones. i stretch this philosophy across december so that omair and i make the most of it feasting with friends and family.  

goodbye twenty-sixteen

clock tower park, caledonian road

the closing days of the year have you been revealing and concealing in equal measure. there has been glorious sunshine that has coloured london rose gold at sunset. and then there has been fog so thick it has consumed everything in its wake or made apparitions of architecture and moving figures alike. the weather echoes my sentiments on the year.

2016 has been uneven at best. it has revealed some very uncomfortable truths about humanity. many say that it is the worst year ever. but to say that is to repeat a phrase that has become common at the conclusion of each year. one observation that struck a chord with me deeply is how many of us reverted to parallels with history. we returned to familiar binaries, those of the haves and have-nots, of power and powerlessness and of the liberals against the conservatives to mention a few. i am not convinced by the readiness of these rehearsed debates. reality is complicated. life is untidy. experience and events rarely colour within the lines.