Memories of a Kashmir Winter by Muzamil Jaleel

My first memory of winter is of an early morning when I woke up and looked out of the window to see the branches of a pear tree in my grandmother’s orchard surrendering to the weight of snow. I remember everything as white, silent and peaceful as thick flakes fell like cotton. I must have been five or six. For children, winter in Kashmir meant long holidays. With schools shut and the routine work of adults halted for several months, it was always a season of family get-togethers.