There was a time when autumn in Kashmir did not need an announcement. You felt it. It arrived slowly, in the crispness of the morning air, the lengthening shadows, the first chinar leaf turning from green to rust. The sunlight changed its colour. The evenings suddenly asked for another layer of clothing. Somewhere, someone began preparing for winter. Autumn was not merely a season in Kashmir. It was a mood.  And lately, I find myself asking a strangely simple question: Where has the autumn gone?

Perhaps it is still here. The chinars will change colour. Leaves will carpet the roads. Photographers will arrive. Social media will fill with spectacular reds and golds, and once again we will tell the world how beautiful Kashmir is in autumn.However, I am not speaking about the autumn we can photograph. I am speaking about the autumn we used to feel. Our seasons themselves seem less certain now. Summer overstays. Rain arrives when memory tells us it should not. Winter hesitates, then suddenly asserts itself. Familiar rhythms no longer feel quite so........

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