It a  Winter Memory That Never Left.  Three Decades Later, Kashmir Still Calls. An indelible memory of a Medico from Kashmir who now lives in Himachal...

It was a casual remark, made by my mother during the usual exchange of pleasantries.

We were talking about the chill in the air, how winter had gripped us, and how we felt its sharp bite.

Nothing unusual—except for one small fact: we had left the Valley almost three decades ago.

It struck me then. I thought we had settled into our new life, far from the comforting presence of the Zabarwans, the snowy mountains that we see reflected in the Dal Lak.

But life, for us, has always been divided—like A.D. and B.C.

There’s life before the Valley and life after it.

Our home once stood in the heart of Kashmir, surrounded by the fragrance of eucalyptus and the majestic Chinars.

Leaving it all behind to start anew was a daunting task. I was a teenager at the time, and while I observed everything unfolding around me, I felt detached.

Perhaps it was my way of coping, the pain too much to bear. I distanced myself, numbing my emotions to survive.

Accepting this new life wasn't easy. Every comparison with what I had known in the Valley only made it harder.

Caught in the emotional quagmire, I didn’t know what to do, so I did the only thing I could—I shut it all out. The pain, the sense of betrayal, the memories of home, all locked away behind a wall I built to protect myself from the chaos inside.

But life doesn’t exist in simple terms of black and white. There are always shades of grey, even flashes of color if you dare to look.

And while I thought I had buried the past, remnants of that old life persisted. The onset of spring anywhere else still reminds me of the Nargis blooming back home.

Small waterfalls are compared, always falling short of Aharbal’s beauty, the place famous fir its milky warerfall that empty into the serpentine Jhelum. 

Pines and Deodars  here never measure up to the Oaks and Chinars of Kashmir, and autumn—no matter where I am—can never rival the riot of colors that once enveloped the Valley.

It's a memory I thought was long buried, but it springs to life now and then, reminding me of my vulnerability, reminding me of home.

Thirty years may have passed, but despite the distance and the different landscapes, the snowfall in Kashmir still unnerves me, stirring emotions I believed were long forgotten.

That casual comment from my mother brought it all back. We may have left the Valley, but the Valley never truly left us.