By Arun Kumar Singhal
We live in a time when conversations about climate change and environmental degradation dominate headlines and home alike. Social media scrolls are filled with alarming statistics, satellite images of melting glaciers, rising temperatures, and vanishing biodiversity. And often, in response, we lash out — expressing anger, guilt, or helplessness. We vent our frustration at the mindless ways in which humans continue to exploit and damage nature, knowingly or unknowingly, every single day.
And yet — in the midst of all this despair — nature surprises us.
It quietly reminds us that it still holds power. That it still remembers how to heal. That if we pause, even momentarily, it can show us glimpses of the balance it once had.
The lines below are my feelings, my perspective, it may differ from others, that’s fine!
I was reminded of this recently, right here in the Doon Valley. Now in my early summer routine, I’ve become used to bracing myself for intense heat — for dry, dusty winds and the constant hum of fans and air-conditioners. But this year has been different. Remarkably different.
As I write this in the heart of June, I find myself wrapped not in sweat and discomfort, but in a soft, cool breeze. The skies have been generous with showers, and the temperature has hovered around 20°C during the day — something almost unheard of in recent years. The air smells fresh, the trees look greener, and the birds are more vocal in the mornings. It feels, strangely and beautifully, like a portal has opened to the past.
I remember my childhood in Doon. Back then, June wasn’t a season of discomfort. It was a time of gentle warmth, juicy mangoes, carefree bicycle rides, and evening strolls without the oppressive weight of heat. Fans were a luxury we rarely needed, and air-conditioners were almost mythical. We’d happily climb mango and litchi trees in the afternoons, unbothered by the fear of scorching heat waves — often stung by bees on the branches, but undeterred until we’d grabbed a bunch of ripe litchis! I sometimes wonder if today’s youth can ever feel that same spirit of joy and freedom.
This year, the valley gives me that feeling again.
Have you noticed it too? This subtle return of the old Doon? Those who have been living here for at least 45-50 years can understand what I am relating to. It might just be a passing phase, or perhaps the result of complex climatic patterns. But to me, it feels symbolic — a reminder of nature’s quiet resilience. Even after all the harm we’ve caused, the earth has not entirely turned its back on us.
But this is not just a poetic reflection. It’s a lesson — one we must not ignore.
The cooling rains and softened temperatures are not merely a lucky break; they’re a whisper from nature: “I can still be whole, if you let me.”
It’s up to us now — as individuals, communities, and nations — to listen. To shift from reaction to responsibility. To transform our concern into conscious action. Whether it’s reducing waste, supporting clean energy, rewilding our cities, or simply allowing green spaces to thrive — every small step matters.
Nature doesn’t need us to save it. It needs us to stop hurting it.
Let the cool June of Doon be a memory we carry not just as nostalgia, but as a quiet inspiration. A reason to hope. A reason to act. And above all, a reason to believe that healing is still possible.
(Arun Kumar Singhal, a resident of Doon, engages in social service and is a passionate environmental enthusiast. He has also been an author and writer in the field of energy and environmental issues since the late nineteen-eighties.)
