The First Snow And Why We Never Get Used to It

"In Kashmir, the first snow isn’t just weather. It’s a ceremony."

No matter how many winters we’ve seen, that first snowfall in Kashmir always feels like the first one ever.

The air changes before it happens — colder, quieter, as if the valley itself is holding its breath. People start guessing the date like it’s a festival announcement. “It’ll snow this weekend, I can feel it,” someone says confidently — though, honestly, we’ve all been wrong more times than we’ve been right.

And then one morning, it happens. You wake up to a light outside your window that doesn’t look normal. The world has turned white overnight — the trees, the roofs, the narrow lanes. Even the stray dogs look confused, wondering who redecorated the neighborhood.

Suddenly, everyone’s a photographer. Phones come out faster than kangris. We send pictures to cousins in Delhi just to remind them what they’re missing — and immediately complain about the power cut that arrived right on schedule.

Yet, despite the cold fingers, frozen pipes, and endless shoveling, there’s a strange peace in that silence after snowfall. It’s like time slows down for a moment. The chaos of daily life fades, and all that remains is a valley wrapped in white — still, serene, almost sacred.

Children rush outside to make snowmen, adults pretend they’re supervising (but really just want to join in), and even the oldest among us can’t resist cracking open a window to watch the flakes fall. Because deep down, it’s not just snow — it’s home changing its outfit.

And that’s why we never get used to it. Because every first snow isn’t a repeat — it’s a reminder. That no matter how many storms we’ve faced, Kashmir still knows how to surprise us, soften us, and start over.

So yes, we’ll still rush to take photos next winter too. And yes, we’ll still lose network right when we try to upload them. But maybe that’s the valley’s way of saying — put the phone down, and just look.