Our winter is fading, but the world remains indifferent
Once upon a time, there was a season called winter. It was nicely tucked between late autumn (Hemonto) and spring (Boshonto) in a deck of six seasons. It was a time when nature would drape our cities and villages in a soft white shawl. Glasses of fresh date juice were sold from earthen pots to the early risers. The jaggery (nolen gur) made from date juice was the hallmark of the season which would find its way into various pitha and payesh. The golden glow of mustard fields would signal the merrymaking that goes on in the village fairs featuring lathi khela, putul naach, and nagor dola. That time, by 2100, is gone.
The Daily Star cites climate scientists to warn of a time when winter will vanish from our season cycle by 2100. The news sent a chill down the spine; mourning becomes winter. It's not only a season that is vanishing. It is a feeling that a time of the year that defined who we are is not going to be there. My generation can sense its fleeting years, but to think our next generation will not experience winter is a sobering fact. A pause in the calendar that made the otherwise hot and humid year feel complete is dissolving. And the land of six seasons will feel like one long, unbroken summer.
For all latest news, follow The Daily Star's Google News channel. I may sound poetic, but, as Ezra Pound has put it, "poetry is news that stays news." And the news is: Bangladesh is warming by roughly 0.16 degrees Celsius per decade, and winter nights in Dhaka are warming at nearly 0.45 degrees Celsius per decade. Bangladesh's average temperature can potentially rise by up to 4.5 degrees Celsius by 2100. As the unused blanket lies folded near my feet and November nights are drowned out by the drone of ceiling fans, I fear the fearmongering scientists are right.
Winter is more than a season. It is our way of life—a tradition. What happens to the fanfares of winter when the air is no longer cold enough for the dew to set in, fog to rise, the crops to be moist, birds to migrate, or people to gather around woodfires? Warming erases culture as surely as it changes climate. And it will change our agriculture, too: rice, wheat, mustard and winter vegetables need specific low temperatures to grow properly. The change in temperature will confuse the animals that hibernate, impacting the number of insect pollinators. This in turn will affect flowering cycles and stress livestock. The lack of cold will allow mosquitoes to thrive and worsen vector-borne diseases like dengue and chikungunya. Meanwhile, the steel and glass structures of our cities will continue to trap heat and add to the weather, turning winter into an unending extension of summer. To think of winter-related outdoor activities and outerwear as nostalgic relics of the past will further shape livelihoods. People who depend on these items will have to reinvent their purposes.
Then again, you might think a lot can happen in the next 20 years to make many of these issues irrelevant anyway. But there is no harm in preparing for what to expect from these changes. Winter is becoming weird. In many places in the global North, winter storms are becoming recurrent. This allows climate change deniers to suggest that global warming is a hoax, as is evident by the severe cold experienced by Europe and North America. But the weather oddities need to be seen against the climate change patterns.
The report, jointly prepared by the Bangladesh Meteorological Department and the Norwegian Meteorological Institute, also claims the country may face extreme heat almost throughout the year. "By the 2070s, pre-monsoon heatwaves in western regions could last up to 20 days, and by the century's end, nearly 70 of the 90 pre-monsoon days may experience heatwave conditions," the report claims. It does not mention the larger picture awaiting the Bengal Delta. The Himalayan glaciers that feed our great rivers—Padma, Jamuna, and Meghna—are melting at alarming rates due to this global warming. Scientists predict that while meltwater may initially increase river flow, the long-term consequence is catastrophic: reduced dry-season water, erratic monsoon pulses, and destabilised sediment cycles. This means the delta, already fragile, becomes more vulnerable to both drought and sudden flooding. The situation will be compounded by the sea-level rise. The Bay of Bengal is warming faster than the global average. We may lose 12–18 percent of our coastal areas by 2100. The saltwater intrusion due to the rise of seawater coupled with human encroachment can pose an existential threat to the Sundarbans. In short, we are witnessing a slow death of the delta; it is losing its ability to protect, feed, and sustain us.
In the story of a warming world, the Bengal Delta is the frontline, and its wounds are already visible. And yet, at every COP summit, the same question hovers in the air: why are those who contributed the least to global emissions suffering the most? Bangladesh emits almost nothing compared to industrialised nations, but we remain one of the worst victims. During the first phases of industrialisation, when the Western factories belched carbon for centuries, exploiting fortunes of the colonies and building their futures on fossil fuels, no compensation was given. Now, when the winter is not coming and the planet beneath our feet is shifting, we are told to "adapt," "build resilience," and craft a "just transition." For us, there is no short supply of words.
We need climate negotiators. We need to ensure technology transfer. The countries most capable of helping through clean energy innovations, climate-resistant agriculture, and affordable mitigation technologies hold tightly onto their patents like inherited privileges. To translate words into action, we need to have equitable access to these resources. We need a fair system of climate credits that ensures countries like Bangladesh have equitable access to the tools, financing, and innovations required to adapt and thrive in a warming world. At the same time, we cannot eternally wait for the world to fix our problem. We need to build resources of our own. Climate education needs to go beyond five-star hotel conferences and university seminars. Children at schools must learn not only the names of Bangladesh's six seasons but also what threatens their survival. They should understand why trees matter, why plastic chokes our drains, and why heat rises in cities strangled by concrete. Responsibility begins with knowing, and knowing must start early.
We are a small country, but not so in numbers. Our voice needs to be loud and responsible. While we adopt better policies, greener cities, sustainable agriculture, keeping both ethnic and cultural diversity in mind, we need to demand that climate justice is not a charity. We must remind the world that losing winter is not only about losing cool days; it is about losing natural balance, identity, memory, rhythm, and heritage. The chilled glass of date juice today should not be the trace of a dying culture.
Dr Shamsad Mortuza is professor of English at Dhaka University.
Views expressed in this article are the author's own.
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