Nidhi Jamwal*
Does the Camel’s Back have no snow this winter – this question has been gnawing at me since the day (January 16, to be precise) I reported on the nearly snowless winter in the Himalayas this year.
I am from Jammu & Kashmir and grew up in Jyotipuram, a hill town in Reasi district. From our perch at 2,460 feet above sea level, we watched the meandering Chenab against the backdrop of a mighty range of the Himalayas.
Some years the serene flow of the icy river would turn muddy red into a ferocious, roiling flow, hinting at the devastation downstream.
We also had a mountain nearby that looked exactly like a Camel’s Back, also called Sleeping Beauty as it also appeared like a woman resting with her hair unbound after a long day’s work.
Apart from being the perfect scenic spot where we watched the sun set behind the Camel’s Back every evening, the mountain was also our informal weather forecaster.
The Camel’s Back largely remained barren through the year. But, one day we would wake up to a layer of snow over it and it signalled the time like nothing else did for my mother to take out the family woollens from large steel trunks where they were stored, and rajais from the even larger wooden peti.
The hand-knitted sweaters, scarves, gloves, socks and caps were aired and sunned, to rid them of the pungent smell of naphthalene balls, and the rajais, post sunbathing, were covered with spotless white cotton lihaafs.
The winters were harsh but the winter sun was always warm. Afternoons were spent in our lawn eating juicy oranges. Even today an orange can transport me back to the sunny winter days of Jyotipuram.
When the snow on the Camel’s Back began to melt and the snowline receded, my mother declared the end of winters and we packed up the woollens back in the trunks and peti, and took out our summer clothes and sunned the frocks, skirts, shorts and tee-shirts.
As a child I prayed for a life where I was spared the laborious unpacking and packing of clothes, and I now live in Mumbai, at sea level, where there are no winters and therefore no changes in our clothing. But I do now miss that routine and I miss home.
I worry when scientists and climate researchers tell me about the lack of winter precipitation this year. It is a real cause for concern that this year there was almost no snowfall during chillai kalan, the 40-day period of winter in J&K that is supposed to be the harshest period of cold.
Western Disturbances, a weather system that brings winter precipitation to north India, have decreased both in frequency and intensity, Dr M Rajeevan, India’s top climate scientist and the former secretary of the Ministry of Earth Sciences, told me recently during an interview. Worse, research studies point out that in the coming decade or two, these Western Disturbances are likely to further reduce by 15 percent.
Whereas to people who live in the plains, away from the Himalayan states, snowfall is a winter attraction from tourism perspective, inhabitants of the hill states know how crucial snowfall is for the survival of the local communities, the region’s economy and its ecology.
Snowfall replenishes the glaciers, which provide water both for irrigation and drinking purposes. They keep our rivers flowing, our springs alive, and help in hydropower generation. The winter chill ensures Kashmir’s apples are crunchy and taste the best.
It has never been so urgently important that the Indian government takes cognisance of the decreasing winter precipitation, the changing pattern of the Western Disturbances, and drafts a response plan at the earliest. In a changing climate, our monsoon rainfall patterns have already undergone a change. And now with the Western Disturbances playing truant, we may be in for a twin challenge of water and food security.
For me, now sitting 2,000 kilometres away from home, I wonder about the white lihaaf of snow on the Camel’s Back. It is disquieting that the weather bulletin it provided my mother unfailingly, is now disrupted. Is this the beginning of havoc, where climate change mixes up our seasons, threatens our future and messes with our fond memories.
*Nidhi Jamwal is a journalist based in Mumbai, Maharashtra. She writes on environment, climate, and rural issues. Her handle on X is @JamwalNidhi
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