A Season of Longing

Once upon a time, winter for me was like a dentist appointment disguised as a holiday movie montage. Power cuts, bone-chilling winds, and the ever-present fear of frozen pipes – I wasn't a fan.

My nemesis? The elusive snowflake.

Especially in Kashmir, where the beauty seemed to hibernate under layers of grey. Yet, this year, something peculiar happened. People, yes, even me, found whispering winter wishes, checking weather updates religiously, and yearning for...snow.

For eight weeks, I existed in a state of perpetual window-licking. Not in a creepy way, mind you, but with the fervent hope of a desert wanderer seeking an oasis.

Days bled into weeks, each sunrise a silent taunt from the cloudless sky. Facebook, Instagram was flooded with "Snow when?" posts, accompanied by photoshopped winter scenes, further fuelling our collective yearning. Jokes about migrating south for some "real" winter became a coping mechanism. We were like children waiting for Santa, except Santa was a meteorologist with a mischievous streak.

The valley, usually adorned with a white crown, remained bare. Locals, whose livelihoods depend on the winter magic, grew anxious.

And then, like a cinematic reveal, February arrived with a flurry. It started as a hesitant ballet, a few shy flakes pirouetting down, testing the ground. But soon, the heavens opened, and the valley was blanketed in a pristine white embrace. Pictures flooded social media – not just of snowmen and snowball fights, but of beaming faces, relieved smiles, and a renewed spirit. Children, with the unbridled enthusiasm only they possess, erupted in joyous shrieks. Snowmen sprouted like wintery mushrooms, snowball fights erupted, and laughter echoed through the streets. The air, crisp and clean, held a collective sigh of relief and delight. It was as if the valley had taken a deep breath, the tension of anticipation finally melting away.

Witnessing the joy, the collective sigh of relief, made me see Kashmir through a different lens. The snow wasn't just a scenic backdrop; it was a lifeline, a symbol of hope, a reminder of nature's power and its intricate relationship with human lives.

The snow eventually melted, leaving behind puddles and mud, but the memory lingered. Amidst the revelry, a deeper realization dawned. The wait, the longing, had amplified the joy of the snowfall. Like the Kashmiris and their snow, we all have things we deeply await. Things that, when they finally arrive, bring a surge of joy and appreciation. Maybe it's a long-awaited vacation, a dream job, or simply reconnecting with loved ones. Whatever it is, the wait, the anticipation, amplifies the value of its arrival.

We live in a world that craves instant gratification. "Same-day delivery," "swipe right for love," "get rich quick schemes" – our culture bombards us with the illusion of immediate fulfilment. But what if the real magic lies in the wait?

Consider a long-anticipated vacation. The months of planning, the budgeting, the daydreams – they all contribute to the euphoria of finally setting foot on that foreign soil. The joy isn't just in the experience itself, but in the journey that led you there. You savor every moment because you understand the effort it took to get there.

The same applies to relationships. Building trust and weathering storms – these shared experiences forge a bond far deeper than fleeting connections. We cherish these relationships because they've been nurtured, tested, and proven worthy of our time and affection.

Waiting isn't a sign of weakness or impatience; it's a declaration of intent. It signifies a conscious choice to invest your time, energy, and hope in something you believe is worth waiting for. It's a commitment to the journey, not just the destination.

In my case, the wait for snow transformed my perspective. From a reluctant observer, I became a participant in the collective hope. Witnessing the community's resilience and their eventual elation chipped away at my own resistance. Maybe it wasn't about loving winter, but appreciating the delicate balance nature strikes, and the role even the harshest seasons play in our lives.

The snow may have gone, but the memory remains. It serves as a reminder to embrace the wait, to find joy in the anticipation, and to trust that sometimes, the things we yearn for most arrive precisely when they're needed most.

So, as winter retreats and spring peeks in, I carry this lesson with me. To cherish the things I wait for, not just for their presence, but for the reminder of why I desired them in the first place. And maybe, just maybe, I'll even find myself looking forward to the next snowfall, not with dread, but with a newfound understanding and appreciation for the magic it brings.

By Nida Noor

Nida Noor, BE Mechanical, currently working remotely with a US based company Hyqoo