2025 The Year End Reflection.

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Counting Blessings in Aunt Selvi’s Living Room

Aunt Selvi’s living room was hosting time itself, and time—out of respect or confusion—had agreed to sit quietly on the edge of the sofa. The “Welcome 2026” banner drooped slightly, as if even it wasn’t fully convinced. The sorority had assembled: women bound not by bylaws but by longevity, memory, and a shared allergy to nonsense.

“This is a welcome 2026 party,” Aunt Selvi declared, clapping once, the way principals do before announcing a cultural program. “Not only eating. We must say gratitude to the year gone.”

Jenny and Andy exchanged looks. As cousins, they had perfected this non-verbal language at family functions. Jenny—daughter of Siri—raised one eyebrow. Andy—Anu’s son—responded with a half-smirk that translated to: Here we go.

Sadie Khan looked up from her phone. “I came with a wish,” she said. “Very specific. For my friend. May she stop forwarding motivational quotes at 5 a.m. and calling it ‘positivity.’”

Approval rippled through the room. Precision mattered.

Jeets Gill stretched like a cat preparing to knock something off a table. “Before wishes, I recommend something interesting. Otherwise this becomes a condolence meeting with cake.”

Aunt Selvi waved dismissively. “Reflection is interesting.”

“Ha,” said Saramma Bhagavat, with the triumphant inhale of someone about to be wise. “Selvi, means we need to reflect on the year gone.”

“Na,” Jeets shot back instantly. “Bygones are bygones. Why exhume the past? Let it decompose with dignity.”

Jenny whispered to Andy, “They say ‘bygones are bygones’ but remember slights from 1997.”

Andy nodded solemnly. “With dates.”

Aunt Selvi ignored the peanut gallery. “Why reflect on the year gone by?” she asked, her tone suggesting this was not a question but a moral checkpoint.

Sadie answered first, lowering her voice. “Of course we think of Padmanabh who passed away. Meera who died. Baby Sudha who kicked the bucket. May their souls rest in peace.”

Even Jenny stopped smirking. Andy folded his arms.

“Other than that,” Sadie added, “what exactly are we reflecting on? Calories? Regrets? Amazon purchases?”

A silence followed—brief, but loaded.

“Reflection is integration,” Saramma said finally, leaning forward. “You collect lessons. You don’t just survive the year, you digest it.”

Andy mouthed digest like it was a foreign language.

“Yes,” Saramma continued. “Integration of lessons. Challenges. Victories. That time you held your tongue and it nearly killed you.”

Jeets nodded. “Celebrating resilience. We bounced back. Some of us bounced badly, but still.”

“And tracking evolution,” Sadie added. “Last year I wanted inner peace. This year I want people to leave me alone.”

Jenny snorted. “That’s not evolution. That’s maturity.”

Aunt Selvi clasped her hands. “Also emotional anchoring. Creating closure. Releasing what no longer serves us.”

“Like outdated opinions,” Jeets said sweetly, glancing around.

“And bad blouses,” Sadie added. “Which somehow keep returning.”

Saramma raised a finger. “And gratitude.”

At the word gratitude, the room exploded into mischief.

The friends—clearly waiting for this cue—burst into an off-key, enthusiastic yodel:

“🎶 Count your many blessings,
Name them one by one,
Count your blessings,
See what the Lord has done! 🎶”

It was not singing so much as joyful ambush.

Jenny covered her face. Andy muttered, “This is happening in public.”

Aunt Selvi beamed, unbothered. “Gratitude practice,” she said over the noise. “Grounding. Abundance.”

Jeets clapped along ironically. “Yes, yes. Thank you, universe, for knees that still negotiate.”

“And self-compassion,” Saramma said firmly. “We honor struggles and triumphs. No unnecessary self-flagellation.”

Andy leaned toward Jenny. “Do they know TikTok exists?”

Jenny replied, “They are TikTok. Just slower.”

Aunt Selvi moved on. “Practical reasons also. Clarifying priorities. Resetting intentions. Strategic planning.”

“Strategic?” Andy repeated. “I came for cake.”

“Yes,” Jeets said. “Because reflection without planning is nostalgia. Planning without reflection is delusion.”

Sadie nodded. “And communal reasons. Strengthening connections. Modeling growth.”

“Building legacy,” Saramma added.

“Legacy?” Jenny echoed. “You mean this?”

“Yes,” Aunt Selvi said calmly. “These conversations. One day you will say, ‘They were old, but they were thinking.’”

That landed harder than expected.

The room softened. Losses acknowledged. Laughter earned. Years integrated—not dissected, just honored.

Aunt Selvi finally cut the cake.

“Welcome, 2026,” she said. “We come informed. Slightly sarcastic. Fully present.”

Jenny and Andy looked at each other. No smirk this time.

Maybe reflection wasn’t such an ancient hobby after all.