Kashmir’s Weather Takes an Extended Sabbatical
Farhan Lone
The sky is screaming, but we’re too busy scrolling to listen. In Kashmir, where snow once blanketed the Valley like a promise kept, the weather has turned into a flaky friend who ghosts you at the last minute. December used to mean rooftops draped in white, kangris glowing under phirans, and snowmen with more personality than your average influencer. Now? It’s a shrug, a drizzle, and a forecast that feels like it’s been written by a Magic 8-Ball. The winter of 2024–25 has been less “wonderland” and more “where’d it go?”—a stark reminder that climate change isn’t just a buzzword; it’s rewriting Kashmir’s soul.
Mother Nature’s Midlife Crisis
Kashmir isn’t alone in this meteorological meltdown. Globally, the weather is acting like it’s auditioning for a disaster flick. In January 2025, Germany swapped snow for spring-like temperatures, with Berlin hitting a bizarre 15°C, according to the Deutscher Wetterdienst. Canada, typically a poster child for frost, saw Ontario’s lakes refuse to freeze, baffling ice fishers, per CBC reports. Japan’s Hokkaido, famed for its snow festivals, scrambled to truck in snow for tourists, as NHK noted. Meanwhile, South America drowned in unseasonal floods—Brazil’s Rio Grande do Sul saw 600 mm of rain in a week, per Reuters—while Southeast Asia’s monsoon played hide-and-seek, leaving Thai farmers staring at cracked fields, per Bangkok Post.
As environmental writer Laila Thompson puts it, “Nature’s calendar is in tatters, and we’re the ones who shredded it.” Decades of carbon emissions, deforestation, and industrial excess have turned the planet into a temperamental teenager, and Kashmir is feeling the brunt.
Kashmir’s Winter: A No-Show Star
This winter, Kashmir’s snow was fashionably late—if it showed up at all. December 2024 was a tease, with Gulmarg and Pahalgam offering more mud than magic. January hesitated, dropping flurries that melted faster than a politician’s promises. By February 2025, when snow finally graced the Valley, it was like a guest arriving after the party ended. Data from the India Meteorological Department (IMD) confirms the trend: Srinagar’s snowfall dropped to 10 cm in December 2024, compared to a 30-year average of 45 cm. Temperatures hovered 3–5°C above normal, a pattern echoing the warming trends reported in a 2023 Jammu and Kashmir climate assessment.
Farmers felt the chaos first. In Shopian, apple orchards bloomed prematurely, only for late frosts to wreck yields. “It’s like the seasons are drunk,” said Ghulam Nabi, a third-generation orchardist, whose losses hit 40% this year. The J&K Horticulture Department reported a 15% dip in apple production for 2024–25, tying it directly to erratic weather. Water scarcity looms, too—glaciers like Kolahoi, which feed the Jhelum River, shrank by 23% between 2000 and 2020, per a University of Kashmir study. Less snow means less meltwater, threatening irrigation and hydropower.
Tourism, Kashmir’s economic lifeline, took a beating. Gulmarg, billed as Asia’s skiing mecca, saw hotel bookings drop 30% in December 2024, per the J&K Tourism Board. Visitors expecting Instagram-worthy snowscapes got soggy boots instead. “I came for snow, not slush,” posted a disappointed tourist on X, echoing hundreds of similar gripes. Ski instructors, shikara operators, and vendors watched their livelihoods evaporate faster than the missing snow.
Climate Change: The Uninvited Guest
Scientists aren’t mincing words: this is climate change in overdrive. The IPCC’s 2023 report warns that global warming—now at 1.2°C above pre-industrial levels—has supercharged extreme weather. In Kashmir, warming is faster than the global average, with the Himalayas heating up at 0.3°C per decade, per a 2024 ICIMOD study. Glaciers are melting like popsicles in a microwave—Thajwas Glacier lost 12% of its mass since 2010, per satellite data. Rainfall is erratic, with Srinagar recording 20% below-average precipitation in 2024, per IMD.
The stakes are existential. Rivers like the Jhelum and Indus, fed by snowmelt, sustain 70% of Kashmir’s agriculture, per the J&K Agriculture Department. A 2025 World Bank report projects a 20% drop in water availability by 2040 if warming persists, risking food security for millions. “This isn’t just about snowless winters,” says Dr. Shakil Romshoo, a glaciologist at the University of Kashmir. “It’s about a cascading crisis—water, crops, livelihoods.”
Heartbreak in the Valley
Beyond the data, there’s a quieter loss: identity. Kashmir’s winters are etched into its culture—harisa simmering on stoves, snow fights in mohallas, and elders spinning tales of blizzards that buried villages. “We used to dig tunnels to school,” recalls 70-year-old Naseema Bano from Anantnag, her eyes misty. Today’s kids, glued to screens, know snow from YouTube compilations, their kangris gathering dust. On X, a Srinagar teenager posted, “Is winter even a thing anymore?” The question stings because Kashmir’s seasons aren’t just weather—they’re poetry, woven into its shayari, festivals, and food.
A Flicker of Hope
The planet hasn’t thrown in the towel yet, and neither have Kashmiris. Grassroots efforts are sprouting like wildflowers. In Srinagar, schools have woven climate literacy into curriculums, teaching kids to see mountains and rivers as more than selfie backdrops. Youth groups like Kashmir Eco-Warriors planted 5,000 saplings in 2024 and led Jhelum cleanups, per local reports. “We’re not waiting for governments,” says 22-year-old organizer Ayesha Bhat. “This is our home.”
Small actions add up. Solar panels are popping up in villages, cutting reliance on coal. Waste segregation pilots in Baramulla diverted 60% of landfill waste in 2024, per municipal data. Even tourists are pitching in—Gulmarg’s “Green Slopes” campaign encourages visitors to offset carbon footprints, raising ₹2 lakh for reforestation since October 2024, per organizers.
As mystic poet Amit Ray wrote, “The environment is no one’s property to destroy; it’s everyone’s responsibility to protect.” Kashmir is listening, but the clock is ticking.
The Forecast Ahead
The weather isn’t a side character anymore—it’s the star, and it’s demanding a rewrite. Snow may be late, rain may be early, and seasons may be freelancing, but this isn’t the finale. It’s a wake-up call, loud as a thunderstorm. Rumi’s wisdom rings true: “Try to understand the meaning behind the change—it’s not the end, but a new beginning.”
Kashmir can’t afford nostalgia. It needs action—tree by tree, policy by policy, voice by voice. So, let’s swipe right on the planet. Turn off that extra light. Ditch the plastic. Amplify the youth planting saplings. Because if we don’t act now, the only snow our kids will know will be in history books.
Note Farhan Lone is a freelance journalist and photographer based in Srinagar. His work, blending gritty storytelling with vivid imagery, captures the pulse of Kashmir’s changing landscapes and resilient communities. Published in outlets like The Wire and Kashmir Observer, he chronicles the intersection of environment, culture, and human spirit.
