Winters are slowly setting in around Delhi NCR, and the familiar mix of comfort and concern is back. The mornings have started turning soft and cold, and I’ve already reached for the sweatshirts stacked at the back of the closet. The air has that faint crispness that makes coffee taste better and evenings quieter. Every year, this shift feels both welcome and predictable — a return to the small routines that come with the season. Hoodies, sweaters, and slightly slower mornings. But behind it all, the grey haze lingers like a shadow that refuses to lift. The change in temperature always brings the reminder of how heavy the air feels, how breathing outside in Delhi’s winter now comes with a quiet sense of unease.
There’s something about this season that still feels special though, despite everything. It’s the only time of the year when the city calms down a little. People move slower, traffic feels quieter, and even the sunlight looks softer. The rhythm of the day changes. I’ve noticed that I start walking differently too — hands tucked in pockets, collar slightly raised, moving through that mix of cold and smoke. The body adapts quickly, but the lungs protest. The air quality numbers climb like clockwork, and yet everyone continues with their routines, adjusting, pretending it’s just another winter. There’s an odd kind of acceptance in the way the city lives through this every year.
I used to think there would come a year when this would improve — when cleaner air wouldn’t feel like a distant luxury. But 2025 doesn’t seem to be that year. The conversation around pollution has become repetitive, and the solutions seem stuck in place. Masks that once meant protection from viruses are now back for dust and smog. Even inside homes, there’s that faint burnt smell that never fully goes away. It’s frustrating, mostly because winter used to mean freedom — walking outside without sweat, long drives at night, late tea runs. Now it feels like a trade: comfort in temperature for discomfort in air.
Still, there’s a kind of stubborn optimism that comes with Delhi’s winters. People still plan barbecues on rooftops, still wear new sweaters like small celebrations, still step out for morning runs despite the haze. The city finds ways to carry on, even if the background stays grey. Maybe that’s what keeps this season alive — the collective decision to enjoy what can be enjoyed and ignore what can’t be fixed, at least for now. I try to do the same. A walk in the cold still feels good, even if I know it shouldn’t. The chill on the face still reminds me of older winters, cleaner ones, before air quality became a daily statistic.
For now, I’ll settle for the small comforts — the warmth of a hoodie, the first cup of hot tea before sunrise, and the slower rhythm of winter mornings. The season still carries its quiet charm, even when the air doesn’t. Every year, I tell myself I’ll get used to it, but I never really do. Maybe that’s fine. Maybe it’s enough to notice both — the comfort of the cold and the discomfort of what comes with it. That balance feels like Delhi’s winter now. The mix of what we love and what we can’t change.