by Mudasir Koul
There is a distinct change in the character of Kashmir as autumn approaches. The mornings become cooler, the light softer and the green of summer gradually gives way to shades of yellow, orange and red. The chinar leaves begin to change colour and, one after another, fall to the ground. Village paths, gardens and roadsides are covered with them. This is Harud, the Kashmiri autumn. For a visitor, Harud may simply be another beautiful season in the Valley. For Kashmiris, however, it carries memories and emotions that are difficult to separate from everyday life. It is associated with the harvest, orchards, changing weather, preparations for winter and the familiar landscapes in which generations have grown up.
Harud generally begins around September and continues through October and November. The warmth of summer slowly recedes, and mornings and evenings become colder. The change is most clearly visible in the trees. The chinar, or booune, begins to transform, its green leaves gradually turning There is a quiet beauty in watching the chinar shed its leaves. It is also a reminder of the passage of time. What is green today will change tomorrow. Perhaps this is one reason autumn has found such a strong place in Kashmiri poetry, folklore and everyday thought.
Harud is not only about the beauty of nature. It is also a season of work. For Kashmir’s farming and horticultural communities, autumn is the period when the labour of many months begins to bear fruit. Paddy fields mature, apples are harvested, walnuts are collected and saffron cultivation enters an important phase in areas where it is grown. For farmers, therefore, Harud is a period of considerable activity. The success of the harvest can have a direct bearing on the livelihood of families. An old Kashmiri saying, “Sountas na keneras, te Harudas na neeles,” reflects the agricultural wisdom of earlier generations. It reminds us that every season has its own task and that work has to be done at the right time. The wisdom contained in such sayings goes beyond agriculture. Life too has its seasons. There is a time to prepare, a time to work and a time to reap the results of one’s efforts. In this sense, Harud carries a lesson about patience, timing and perseverance.
For many Kashmiris, autumn is also a season of memories. Ask someone about Harud, and they may recall the smell of freshly harvested paddy, collecting walnuts with family members, carrying apples from an orchard or sitting indoors on a cold evening as winter approached. Traditional food practices are also closely linked with this period. Vegetables are cut, dried and stored for the winter months. Hōkhyin, or dried vegetables, remains an important part of Kashmiri food culture. These practices reflect a time when people organised much of their lives according to the rhythm of nature and prepared well in advance for the harsh winter.
The chinar occupies a special place in all of this. During summer, its broad canopy provides shade. In autumn, it becomes a symbol of the season itself. Its changing leaves have inspired poets, writers and artists for generations. Kashmiri literature has always maintained a close relationship with nature. Mountains, rivers, trees, flowers and changing seasons often appear not merely as elements of the landscape but as ways of expressing human emotions. Autumn, with its combination of beauty and decline, naturally evokes thoughts of separation, longing, ageing and the passing of time. Kashmiri kahawats also preserve the observations of earlier generations. Many of these sayings emerged from agriculture, weather, family life and the natural environment. They are short expressions but often contain the experience of generations. Keeping them alive is therefore also a way of preserving Kashmir’s oral heritage.
The beauty of Harud is not limited to the well-known tourist destinations. Srinagar’s Mughal gardens become particularly attractive as the chinars change colour. Dal Lake takes on a quieter appearance under the cooler autumn sky, while Pahalgam and Gulmarg acquire their own autumn shades.Yet some of the most meaningful scenes of Harud can be found away from tourist centres. They are visible on village roads, in orchards and beside harvested fields. An elderly man sitting in the afternoon sun, children walking beneath falling leaves or farmers gathering the last produce of the season may capture the character of Kashmiri autumn better than any postcard.
However, the Harud experienced today is not entirely the same as the one remembered by previous generations. Kashmir’s environmental and climatic conditions are changing. Variations in temperature and rainfall can affect agriculture and horticulture, including the timing of flowering, fruit development and harvesting. Environmental pressures are another concern. Pollution, loss of green spaces, unplanned development and the degradation of natural habitats can gradually alter the landscapes that give Harud its character. Protecting the natural environment is therefore not only an ecological responsibility; it is also a way of protecting Kashmir’s cultural landscape. Preserving Harud means preserving more than the chinar trees and autumn scenery. It means preserving the traditions, agricultural knowledge, food practices, kahawats, poetry and stories associated with the season.
This becomes particularly important as the younger generation grows increasingly distant from some traditional practices. Much of the knowledge that was once passed naturally from grandparents to children can disappear if it is not recorded, practised or spoken about. Modernisation is inevitable, but it need not mean losing the cultural memory of the past. Harud arrives quietly. There is no particular morning when Kashmir suddenly becomes autumn. The change takes place gradually. One morning the air feels colder, a few leaves have changed colour and the fields look different. Before long, the entire landscape has taken on another character. Perhaps this gradual transformation is one of the lessons of Harud. Change does not always announce itself. Sometimes it happens slowly, almost unnoticed, one leaf at a time.
The falling leaves, harvested fields and preparations for winter are all part of the same natural cycle. The chinar sheds its leaves, passes through winter and returns to green again in spring. In that sense, Harud is not simply about an ending. It is also about continuity and renewal. For a visitor, autumn in Kashmir may be a season of beautiful landscapes and photographs. For a Kashmiri, it can carry something more personal, a village road, an orchard, a family gathering, a field after harvest or an evening cup of kehwa.
That is what makes Harud difficult to describe in a few words. It is a season, but it is also a collection of memories. It belongs to the landscape, but it also belongs to the people who have lived through its changing colours year after year. Harud comes every year. The chinars change colour, the leaves fall, the harvest is gathered and winter eventually arrives. Yet every autumn carries something of its own. Perhaps that is the quiet beauty of Harud: the landscape changes, time moves forward, but the memories remain.
The author can be mailed at mudasirkoul786@gmail.com
