“The Old Year has struck, /And, scarce animate, /The New makes moan,” wrote Thomas Hardy as a war-torn Europe slipped from 1915 to 1916. Today, the moans of victims of a new war have made some nations cancel New Year celebrations, while others drown them out in noisy celebrations, and spectacular fireworks replace the flash of rockets and bombs in the night sky.

New Year celebrations were once, and in many countries still are, a celebration of the seasons, of great importance to agrarian communities. For the Egyptians, it marked the flooding of the Nile, which brought the promise of fertile soil. Spring, the time of new growth and planting of new crops, has been the most common time to celebrate a new year.

In mediaeval Europe, this tradition was given a religious significance and the New Year began on March 25, as the time the Angel Gabriel announced to Mary the impending birth of Jesus. The Roman Catholic Church adopted the Gregorian calendar in 1582 and restored January 1 as the New Year, although Britain and America did not adopt this till 1752.

The Roman calendar created by Romulus was made more accurate by Julius Caesar in 46 BC and was named after him as the Julian calendar. He made January 1 the beginning of the New Year, named after the two-faced god Janus — one face looking back to the past and the other to the future. The Gregorian calendar, which is now followed across the world, removed 11 days from September for greater accuracy.

The celebrations associated with New Year’s Eve, and the reasons behind theses celebrations, are a far cry from the origins of this tradition

Nawroz, is celebrated across the Persian-influenced world, with haft mewa [seven fruits] and the flowering of the tulip, gul-i-surkh, reflecting the Zoroastrian traditional New Year. The haft seen are seven objects beginning with the letter ‘seen’ [ ] that bless the New Year, symbolising sweetness and fertility, wealth and prosperity, rebirth, life and beauty, health, love, age and patience.

The Arab world does not have any festival to mark the New Year, perhaps because it was not an agrarian economy. The first month in Pre-Islamic Arabia was Mu’tamir [the wealthy one], which was changed in the Islamic calendar to Muharram [that which must be respected].

Years were remembered because of events, such as the Year of the Elephant. The first 10 years of the hijrah, the Islamic calendar, were known as the year of permission, the year of the order of fighting, the year of the trial, the year of congratulation on marriage, the year of the earthquake, the year of enquiring, the year of gaining victory, the year of equality, the year of exemption, and the year of farewell — until the numerical hijrah calendar was introduced.

Closer to the idea of marking a new year is Shab-i-Bar’aat [Day of Atonement] to pray for those who have died, and when some believe the destinies for the coming year are determined by the deeds they committed in the past year. Similar concepts are the Christian All Souls Day, the Japanese Bon festival, the Hungry Ghost festival of China and the Pitru Paksha of Hinduism.

According to the Spanish blogger Zoerith, as the English language spread across the world, so too have the culture and customs associated with it, via colonialism, the Industrial Revolution, the computer revolution of America, advertising, broadcasting, cinema and pop music.

Countries all over the world now celebrate the New Year in a uniform hedonism — fireworks, singing Auld Lang Syne, making New Year resolutions and seeking astrological predictions for the coming year. It has lost its spiritual roots.

For those who do not have much to celebrate, it can be a time of anxiety, as they think of the end of a year of struggle and the uncertainty about the coming year. The feeling has even earned itself a name: seasonal affective disorder (SAD), manifesting as isolation and loneliness, financial stress, work anxiety, unmanageable expectations or worries about one’s loved ones. It is clearly compounded with the current climate of political uncertainty and the fear of global conflict emerging from the unrelenting Israeli attacks on Gaza.

The poet T.S. Eliot, always mindful of the sombre reality of modern life, voices our collective hope:

“For last year’s words belong to last year’s language/ And next year’s words await another voice./ And to make an end is to make a beginning.”

Durriya Kazi is a Karachi-based artist.
She may be reached at
durriyakazi1918@gmail.com

Published in Dawn, EOS, January 7th, 2024