There was a time in Kashmir when February meant frozen mornings, snow on the Pir Panjal and the slow, reassuring drip of icicles from wooden eaves. The Valley’s calendar was not marked by dates but by seasons — Chillai-Kalan, the harshest 40 days of winter, would fade gently into a hesitant spring. But this year, something startling happened. In Srinagar, the temperature crossed 20°C in mid-February, nearly 10°C above normal. For many residents, pherans felt unnecessary and kangris remained unlit. It was not merely an unusually warm day. It was a signal. Across the Valley, stations recorded similar departures: Qazigund crossed 20°C, Kupwara hovered near 19°C, and even hill stations remained snow-deficient. February, historically a winter month in Kashmir, behaved like early April. To understand why this matters, one must understand how deeply Kashmir’s life depends on winter. Kashmir does not store water in dams the way plains do. It stores water in snow. The Valley’s hydrology is built on a delicate system: winter snowfall accumulates in mountains, spring warmth melts it slowly, rivers swell gradually, irrigation channels fill, springs recharge, and paddy fields survive the summer. The Jhelum River, lifeline of the Valley, is essentially a delayed gift of winter. When winter weakens, the entire ecological chain weakens, This year’s warmth coincided with an alarming precipitation deficit. Large parts of Kashmir experienced one of the driest winters in recent years, with rainfall and snowfall far below average. Snow cover in the mountains remained patchy. Streams in some villages reduced to trickles by late winter — something once seen only in late summer. The consequences are already visible. Apple orchards, the backbone of Kashmir’s economy, have begun showing premature budding. Farmers fear frost more than ever. Earlier, prolonged winter cold protected trees by keeping them dormant. Today, early warmth wakes them too soon. If a cold wave strikes in March or April — which often happens — blossoms can be destroyed overnight, wiping out a year’s income. Agriculture faces similar uncertainty. Paddy cultivation depends on steady water availability from May onward. With reduced snow reserves, irrigation canals may run low before peak summer. Already, many traditional springs (nag) across the Valley have weakened or dried in recent years, forcing communities to rely on tanker water. Yet the threat is not only drought. Paradoxically, warming winters can increase flood risk. Climate change does not simply make weather warmer; it makes it unstable. Instead of gradual snowfall, precipitation increasingly comes as sudden intense rainfall. When rain falls on bare mountains rather than snow-covered slopes, runoff becomes immediate. Rivers swell rapidly instead of gradually. Kashmir remembers 2014. The devastating floods were not merely a heavy rain event — they were the result of altered weather behaviour, saturated catchments, and an overwhelmed river system. Warmer winters increase the probability of such extremes because the buffering capacity of snowpack diminishes. Another emerging danger lies higher in the mountains: glacial retreat. Himalayan glaciers feeding Kashmir’s rivers are shrinking steadily. As glaciers melt rapidly, they form unstable glacial lakes. If one breaches — a Glacial Lake Outburst Flood (GLOF) — downstream communities could face sudden flooding with little warning. Thus the Valley stands at a dangerous crossroads: summer water scarcity, spring crop damage, and sudden flood disasters — all stemming from the same climatic shift. The changing winter also carries cultural consequences. Kashmir’s architecture, clothing, food traditions, and social rhythms evolved around cold. The kangri, dried vegetable practices, winter schooling patterns — all were adaptations to harsh weather. A warming winter alters not just ecosystems but identity. When Dal Lake does not freeze and snow becomes rare, it is not merely tourism that changes — memory changes. Scientists point to shifting Western Disturbances — the weather systems that traditionally brought winter snow to the western Himalayas. Their timing and intensity appear increasingly erratic. Longer dry spells followed by abrupt precipitation events are becoming more common. In simple terms, Kashmir is losing its predictability — and predictability is what agriculture, water management, and disaster planning depend upon. If the trend continues, the Valley could face chronic water stress, reduced chilling hours affecting fruit quality, and increased hazard events such as flash floods and landslides. Kashmir may increasingly experience both drought-like summers and flood-like monsoons. Adaptation is no longer optional. Wetlands such as Wular and Hokersar must be restored as natural flood buffers. Water harvesting and storage systems need expansion. Urban planning must respect floodplains instead of encroaching upon them. Crop strategies may need rethinking. The February that touched 20°C is not just a statistic. It is a warning. The Valley’s past was written in snow. Its future may be written in water — either too little, or too much. Kashmir is not merely witnessing a warm winter. It is witnessing a transition. The real question is not whether the climate has changed. The real question is whether society and policy will change fast enough to meet the new climate reality unfolding across the Valley.   (The author is Senior Special Correspondent at Rising Kashmir)