When the Seasons Forgot Their Names

A few months ago, while traveling through Muzaffarabad, I met an elderly man named Bashir Ahmad who had spent his entire life by the banks of the Neelum River. He sat under the shade of a walnut tree outside his modest home and shared with me the quiet grief of watching the river that once gave his village life shrink year after year. “This river raised us,” he said, pointing to the narrow stream now slicing through the dry riverbed. “But now it’s tired, just like us.”

His words carried the weight of more than just nostalgia. They reflected a deeper, unfolding crisis that has crept into the fabric of daily life for millions across Pakistan and yet remains dangerously underestimated. Climate change, for most Pakistanis, is no longer a theoretical concept. It is felt in the dry taps, the thinning rivers, the erratic skies, and the rising sense of uncertainty. What Bashir Ahmad described in simple language is what scientists have warned about for years. It is the slow collapse of our natural water systems under the pressure of a warming world.

Pakistan’s vulnerability to climate change is both severe and unfair. The country contributes less than one percent to global greenhouse gas emissions. Yet, we are among the top nations facing the harshest consequences. In the past, the country’s seasons had a sense of rhythm, even poetry. Summers began in April and faded out by September. Winter made its entry in November and bowed out by February. But this balance has been lost. Summers now arrive early, stay longer, and burn hotter. Winters no longer arrive with the same predictability, and when they do, they swing between mild and bitter without warning.

The year 2022 was particularly cruel. Temperatures in several parts of the country soared beyond 48 degrees Celsius. The heat was punishing, especially in urban areas with limited green cover. Hospitals reported a spike in heatstroke cases. Power shortages made conditions worse, leaving entire neighborhoods without relief during the hottest parts of the day. That same year, unusually heavy monsoon rains triggered catastrophic floods. These floods affected over 33 million people and washed away entire villages. These events were not isolated or random. They fit within a larger and troubling pattern that scientists and climate experts have been warning about for decades.

While floods and heatwaves often dominate media coverage, it is water scarcity that is quietly emerging as Pakistan’s most urgent long-term challenge. The country’s heavy reliance on glacial melt, especially from the Himalayan, Karakoram, and Hindu Kush ranges, creates a dangerous paradox. As global temperatures rise, glaciers are melting faster than they can regenerate. This means more water today, but far less in the future, threatening the natural reservoirs that millions depend on for drinking, farming, and electricity.

Cities like Quetta, Gwadar, and even parts of Lahore and Islamabad are already facing serious water shortages. Karachi struggles to meet even half of its daily demand. In many areas, residents line up for tankers or walk long distances to fetch water. As underground aquifers shrink, boreholes are getting deeper and more expensive. For the poor, water is increasingly becoming a luxury they cannot afford.

This is not just an environmental issue. It is a challenge of development, governance, and public health. Water scarcity slows down economic activity, increases disease, and heightens social stress. Contaminated supplies and weak infrastructure are making the problem worse.

Despite the growing evidence, Pakistan’s response remains piecemeal. Initiatives like tree planting and small dams exist, but they lack coordination and scale. The country urgently needs a well-implemented, science-based water policy supported across all provinces.

Public education is critical. Climate and water awareness must be integrated into everyday life. Citizens must treat water as a shared responsibility. Measures such as rainwater harvesting, leak prevention, and recycling should become standard practices, not exceptions. Urban planning must prioritize efficiency, and financial institutions should reward sustainable choices. Without such a shift, the crisis will only deepen. On the global stage, Pakistan must strengthen its voice in forums such as the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change. We must continue to demand climate finance, not as charity, but as part of a shared responsibility. International partnerships should focus on knowledge transfer, smart technology, and resilient infrastructure. Regional cooperation with neighboring countries is also essential, especially for shared rivers that cross political borders and serve millions.

Back in Muzaffarabad, as Bashir Ahmad looked out at the shrinking riverbed, he spoke quietly but firmly. “We never imagined water would be the one thing we run out of.” His voice may have been local, but his warning is universal. Climate change is not something that will arrive tomorrow. It is already here, in our rivers, in our homes, and in our future. The question is whether we are prepared to meet it with seriousness, urgency, and unity. Or whether we will continue to let the waters slip through our fingers.

By: Muhammad Ishaq Hashmi