Fading Snow, Fading Winters: Dharamshala’s New Reality

Growing up in Dharamshala, winters were nothing short of magical. The entire valley would slip into a deep, quiet calm under the blanket of snow that dusted the towering Dhauladhar range. Back then, winter holidays stretched for three whole months, and every morning, I would find myself gazing at those glistening white peaks, awe-struck by their beauty. The Dhauladhar looked mighty, majestic, and timeless, as if nothing could ever change them.

Dhauladhar covered with snow

Even now, I look at those old photographs and feel a pang of nostalgia. I show them to friends, who can’t believe how breathtaking the mountains looked back then. But here I am today, 33 years old, staring at the same mountains that have lost their familiar, snowy crowns. It’s November—a month that once marked the beginning of peak winter—and yet the mountains are bare, stripped of the snow that used to define them. It’s heartbreaking to see the Dhauladhar like this, as if they’ve aged along with me, but in a way that feels tragic, not graceful.

This isn’t just about the snow; it feels as though something sacred has been lost. Climate change isn’t some far-off concept anymore—it’s real, and it’s happening in the very place I call home. Dharamshala, once known for its cool, breezy summers, is now plagued by scorching heat. We used to sleep without even a fan, feeling the mountain air cool and fresh. Now, we’ve had to install air conditioners because the heat has become unbearable, even at night. It’s as if the land itself has changed character, forcing us to adapt to something unnatural.

Seeing these changes up close, where I grew up, is a feeling that’s hard to put into words. The mountains have been a constant, something I thought would remain untouched by time or circumstance. But now, every time I look up at the Dhauladhar, there’s a sense of loss. The melting snow, the searing summers—these aren’t just environmental shifts; they’re wounds on the landscape that shaped my childhood and holds my dearest memories.

Climate change has become a part of life here, and it feels like watching a loved one slip away. It’s not just Dharamshala or the Dhauladhar—this story is playing out across mountain ranges and communities around the world. Glaciers are retreating, rivers are running dry, and ecosystems are struggling to survive. And while the science of climate change tells us why, experiencing it firsthand makes it personal. It’s a reminder that if we don’t act, our memories of these landscapes might be all that’s left of them.

As I sit here with my morning coffee , I can only hope that people everywhere realise what’s at stake. The mighty Dhauladhar isn’t just a mountain range. It’s part of who I am, who we are, and if we don’t act, it might become just another story of what used to be.