For generations, the people of Kashmir have marked their lives by the rhythm of the seasons: the first snowfall on the mountains, the soft thaw of spring in the orchards, the rush of meltwater in the Jhelum, the blazing gold of autumn in the chinars. Today, that familiar rhythm is breaking. Winters arrive late and leave early. Snowfall is erratic, sometimes absent when it is most needed. Spring comes confused, either too warm or too wet. The Valley, long celebrated for its pristine beauty and gentle climate, is on the frontlines of a crisis it did not create but will be forced to endure.
Climate change in Kashmir is no longer an abstract global debate, it is a lived reality. Farmers, who once could almost set their calendars by the weather, speak of seasons that have become unreliable. Apple growers worry that the crucial chill hours their orchards need are declining year after year. A single untimely spell of rain or an unexpected frost is enough to wipe out a season’s income and push families into debt. In villages across the Valley, conversations at the mosque, at the chai stall, and in the fields return to the same anxious questions: Why is the snow so little? Why did the rain not come when we needed it? How will we manage if this continues?
The signs are everywhere. Glaciers in the surrounding mountains are retreating, threatening the long–term flow of rivers and springs that have sustained the Valley’s farms and households for centuries. Traditional water sources that once ran year–round now dry up in summer. Sudden cloudbursts and intense downpours have become more frequent, heightening the risk of flash floods and landslides. The memory of the 2014 floods still haunts Srinagar, yet urban expansion continues on floodplains and wetlands that once acted as natural safety valves.
These changes are not merely environmental; they are social, economic, and political. When crops fail, it is not only a farmer’s field that suffers. It is children’s education, young people’s prospects, and families’ health that come under strain. When water becomes scarce or polluted, it deepens existing inequalities, with the poorest and most marginalised paying the highest price. At the same time, climate stress interacts with unemployment, conflict, and governance deficits, creating a volatile mix that can fuel frustration and despair.
In the public discourse on Kashmir, climate has rarely been treated as a central concern. Security, elections, and geopolitics dominate headlines, while the slow violence of environmental degradation proceeds almost unnoticed. This is a dangerous oversight. If climate change continues to accelerate unchecked, it will redraw the Valley’s map in ways that no political decision can easily reverse. Habitations near eroding riverbanks, roads along unstable slopes, and entire patterns of agriculture could become untenable. We cannot afford to treat this as tomorrow’s problem when it is already reshaping today.
Yet, even in this sobering picture, there is room for agency. The first step must be to recognise climate change as a core development and governance issue for Jammu and Kashmir. Policies on agriculture, water, urban planning, and tourism can no longer be framed without a clear climate lens. Protecting and restoring wetlands such as Hokersar and Wular is not just about birds and biodiversity; it is about defending Srinagar and its surrounding areas from future floods. Halting construction on floodplains and regulating sand mining are not luxuries but necessities.
For rural Kashmir, climate resilience must be built from the ground up. This means investing in climate–smart agriculture, diversifying crops, improving irrigation, and giving farmers timely, reliable information about weather and markets. It also means listening carefully to local knowledge. Communities have long–standing traditions of managing water, forests, and commons; these must be renewed and supported rather than swept aside. The young people of the Valley, many of whom are already engaging with environmental issues on social media and in civil society, can be powerful allies in this effort if given space and support.
Ultimately, however, Kashmir’s climate crisis cannot be separated from the global failure to curb emissions. The Valley contributes very little to the greenhouse gases that are heating the planet, yet it bears an outsized share of the impact. This injustice is not unique to Kashmir, but our response can be. By putting climate at the centre of planning, by strengthening local institutions, and by insisting that development must respect ecological limits, Jammu and Kashmir can chart a different path.
The choice before us is stark. We can continue to treat changing weather patterns as unfortunate but temporary disturbances, hoping that the old normal will somehow return. Or we can accept that the climate is changing, that the Valley we love is at risk, and act with the urgency this moment demands. The snow on our peaks, the water in our streams, the health of our orchards, and the futures of our children all depend on which path we choose.
(The Author is a research scholar and freelancer)
