At this time of the year, newspapers and magazines are full of the ‘best’ and ‘worst’ of the past 365 days. What we ‘lost’ and what we ‘gained’ in terms of people, knowledge, events, money. Pages are devoted to milestones, meetings, appointments and retirements. And even if we have been subjected to a surfeit of information all through the year, we still wade through all this because there is also a lot about what we could do to make this time of the year special.

Look back and assess, we are told, in order that we may, thereafter, with better understanding, look forward and plan — especially when so many of us actually expected disaster to strike on the December 21 this year!

A couple of decades ago, all we wanted at the end of each year was a ‘pound’ party with friends and family — where each brought something to eat (their pound) and pooled it with what the others had cooked up to have a mixed menu of treats from many kitchens. The ‘host’ for the party was usually the person with the best collection of music and one of the specifications was that he or she should live in a slightly isolated place so that the loud music and the enthusiastic sing-along would not disturb neighbours who wanted to get a good night’s sleep.

For a long time, we were lucky to live in a housing society where everyone believed that New Year’s Eve was a time to indulge and to celebrate. The ‘oldies’ (who were mostly retirees who could put the younger generation to shame: remember all the words of the different songs — and make up extra verses — as they fox-trotted and waltzed through the night) would congregate in one home and the youngsters (teens to 30s) would get together in another. The dividing line was less about age and more about the choice of music — with one group going for live piano playing and the other for rocking recorded music.

We would be far enough from each other’s groups so that the sounds did not overlap, but we were close enough for everyone to meet just before the midnight countdown. We could not have a New Year’s Eve without linking arms across the generations and singing Auld Lang Syne together around the bonfire, getting a bit teary-eyed and nostalgic in the bargain. Quickly, however, the laughter would be back as we exchanged hugs and back thumps among friends, relatives and even those we met only on this particular night because we had little else in common through the rest of the year.

Thereafter, we would go back to the respective venues to slowly wind down and maybe even wait for breakfast before trudging home.

Everything was low key, low expense, low expectation — but high on the enjoyment scale!

Memories such as these are probably the reason why when we look at the glossy pictures that fill end-of-the-year papers today — even while we drool a bit over the food to indulge in, the places to visit, the ‘must-do’ things to experience — we don’t really get tempted.

It could be the ultimate ‘high’ to be able to sample the festive season’s apple strudel in Vienna, creme brulee in Paris, traditional plum pudding in London; actually bring in the New Year at Times Square or Sydney Harbour Bridge or the piazzas around the Colosseum in Rome ... the visions we are treated to get bigger and more extravagant as the years go by, but somehow our dreams do not.

Instead, we wish for only one thing — to be back home with the family to celebrate!

Cheryl Rao is a journalist based in India.