The shift in Delhi’s air this October offered a brief, teasing respite. A damp, cool breeze made me believe, if only for a few days, that we might finally have the kind of unhurried winters we grew up with. But the feeling was fleeting, giving way once again to the stubborn humidity left behind by the retreating monsoon.
I often think about what October used to mean. It was an invitation to spend entire mornings outdoors, soaking in the sun. Plump oranges and sweet maltas would be peeled and generously dusted with black salt. My grandfather would stretch out on a woven chatai in the sunniest corner of the garden, engrossed in his morning broadsheet, with a steaming cup of adrak wali chai beside him. Nearby, batons of crimson carrots, turnips and cauliflower florets would be laid out on white cotton sheets to sun-dry before being turned into pickles for winter.
Weekends meant piling into cars for picnics at Nehru Park or Lodhi Gardens, with cousins and childhood friends. I remember the long shadows of the domes and the sheer pleasure of spending hours outdoors without giving a second thought to the air we were breathing.
Today, that simple pleasure feels like a luxury. Delhi has grown taller, louder and increasingly encased in glass, but it is the air that weighs heaviest on the city. This October, a brief spell of cool weather offered little comfort before the familiar haze returned. What many might mistake for winter fog is, in fact, a toxic cocktail of pollutants. The itchy throat, watering eyes, persistent coughs and headaches are no longer incidental seasonal complaints. They are becoming an annual reminder of the environment we are living in. Air purifiers are hauled out of storage, windows remain shut and AQI monitors flash numbers that are frighteningly easy to become accustomed to.
There is something deeply unsettling about normalising this. We are discussing how to protect ourselves from the very air we need to survive. Children are growing up with restrictions on outdoor play, the elderly and those with respiratory conditions face heightened risks, and even the fittest among us are not immune to prolonged exposure. No amount of healthy eating, exercise or expensive air purification can substitute for clean air. How did something so fundamental become a privilege? Will a future generation ever know a winter without smog?
Amid these concerns, conversations around seasonal wellness inevitably find their way into our kitchens. Gurugram-based home chef Surbhi Bhandari recently shared her home remedies on Instagram, including kadha with tulsi, ginger, black pepper and jaggery, turmeric milk, jaggery and wholewheat flour halwa with warming spices, salt-water gargles and steam inhalation. She also lamented how clean air has become the ultimate luxury. While these preparations may offer comfort, they are no substitute for protection from polluted air.
One winter preparation I return to with particular fondness is panjeeri, a little like our very own desi granola. Made with roasted almonds, cashews, raisins, pumpkin seeds, flaxseeds and warming spices, it is a staple in many North Indian homes. I recently tried a version from Mirai-Maia, a Dwarka-based homegrown food business.
Perhaps what I miss most about the winters we once knew is not merely the nip in the air, but the freedom that came with the season. The pleasure of peeling maltas in the afternoon sun, watching pickles mature on the terrace and finding a tin of freshly made panjeeri in the kitchen. I hope these rituals survive. But more than anything, I hope we reclaim something we should never have had to fight for: the right to step outside, breathe deeply and enjoy a winter morning.