Because it is the season of festivals that celebrate light (Diwali, though technically autumn, bleeds into winter) and harvest (Lohri, Pongal, Makar Sankranti). It is wedding season. It is the season of bonfires, of sitting on rooftop terraces wrapped in shawls, of sipping soup from a mug, and of wearing that woollen sweater your grandmother knitted three years ago.
The start of winter is the start of slow mornings . The frantic pace of summer—where you rush to beat the heat—is replaced by a glorious, lazy inertia. But a deep post cannot romanticize blindly. The start of winter in India also brings the onset of Seasonal Affective Disorder (SAD), though we rarely name it. The short days, the grey fog, and the lack of sunlight in places like Delhi and Kolkata trigger a quiet, pervasive melancholy. The start of winter is when the elderly start feeling their joints ache. It is when the homeless in the cities start gathering around bonfires made of scrap wood. For millions of daily wage laborers, the "start of winter" is not poetic; it is a threat. It is the season of survival. winter start in india
The start of winter is a psychological event. Temperatures might only drop from 32°C to 28°C, but the humidity vanishes. For a Mumbaikar or a Chennaite, this 4-degree drop feels like a migration to the Alps. Winter here isn't about survival; it is about relief. It is the season of blue skies and low clouds. It is when the sea breeze feels like a caress rather than a slap. The "start" of winter here is the end of the tyranny of the monsoon. The Gastronomic Shift: Eating for Heat The human body is a brilliant alchemist. As winter starts, our cravings change without us consciously deciding. In the north, the markets suddenly fill with gajak , rewari , and peanut chikki —dense, calorific blocks of sesame and jaggery designed to generate internal heat. Because it is the season of festivals that
Winter starts with a battle. It is the season of smog . The beautiful, golden light is often filtered through a thick blanket of farm fires and vehicular emissions. The start of winter here is visually stunning but physically treacherous. You wake up to fog so dense it feels like a solid wall. The chill doesn't just sit on your skin; it seeps into your bones. It is the season of the sigdi (coal brazier), of thick razais (quilts) that you dread leaving in the morning, and of the ritualistic application of mustard oil on the skin before a bath. The start of winter is the start of slow mornings
Winter has started. Finally.