There is a specific smell to the second week of January in Jammu: woodsmoke curling over rooftops, popcorn bursting on an open flame, and the sweet-burnt edge of gajak warming on a tava. By the time the city records its coldest nights of the season, the colonies of Gandhi Nagar, Channi Himmat and Trikuta Nagar have already started stacking firewood. Lohri falls on 13 January this year, with Makar Sankranti the very next morning, and for a few foggy days the whole city seems to gather around the same warm idea.
If you have grown up here, you know the rhythm. If you are new to Jammu, or back from a hostel in another city, here is how to do it properly.
What makes Lohri matter here is that it sits at the exact pivot of the agricultural year — the last hard squeeze of winter before the days start lengthening and the harvest cycle turns over. In a farming-rooted society like ours, that turn is worth celebrating loudly, which is why the festival has never been a quiet, indoor affair. It spills onto streets and into parks, and for a few days the usual neighbourhood politics of who-knows-whom dissolves around a shared fire.
The bonfire is the easy part
Most neighbourhood Lohri fires are lit after sunset, somewhere around a quarter to six, when the light goes flat and the cold turns serious. Families and friends gather in a loose circle, and the offerings go in: handfuls of til (sesame), gur, peanuts, popcorn, rewari and that crumbly slab of gajak that sticks to your gloves. People walk a slow round of the fire, toss in a fistful, and call out the old refrain aadar aaye dilather jaaye — may honour come and poverty leave.
The trick nobody tells you: stand upwind. Jammu's January fog traps woodsmoke at face level, and your jacket will carry the bonfire home for a week. Wear it as a badge.
There is also a softer tradition woven into the night, especially in households where a wedding has happened in the past year or a baby has arrived. The first Lohri after such an occasion is celebrated with extra warmth — more sweets, more guests, a bigger fire — and the new bride or the newborn becomes the quiet centre of the evening. If you are invited to one of these, bring something sweet and stay for the songs. It is the most genuinely tender side of the festival.
What to eat, and where the sweets come from
Lohri in Jammu is unapologetically about sugar and sesame. The classic plate is til-gur laddoo, peanut chikki, rewari and gajak, washed down with too many cups of chai. The old confectioners around Raghunath Bazaar and the lanes off Gole Market do brisk trade in the days before — go early, because the good gajak sells out by mid-afternoon. A blogger who runs Lohri stalls in Gandhi Nagar told us the rush this year started a full week ahead of the date, simply because the cold arrived early and hard.
For the savoury anchor, most Dogra households lean on the winter staples: rajma-chawal with a pomegranate edge, or sarson da saag with makki di roti if the family roots run towards the Punjab side. It is heavy, deliberate, cold-weather food, and it is the point.
Sankranti: the quiet, sunlit sequel
If Lohri is loud and orange, Makar Sankranti on 14 January is its calmer cousin. It marks the sun's turn towards the north and, symbolically, the slow lengthening of days. Families take a dip or a ritual wash at first light, exchange til and gur so that, as the saying goes, words stay sweet, and many head to the Tawi ghats or to temple courtyards. Khichdi is the dish of the day in much of the region — simple, warm, forgiving on a frozen morning.
For young people, Sankranti is also kite-adjacent fun in parts of the city, and an excuse to sit on a sun-warmed terrace mid-morning, the one hour the fog lifts and Jammu remembers it has a sky.
There is a generosity baked into the day, too. Sankranti is traditionally a time for giving — donations of grain, warm clothes and food to those who need them, the logic being that you share your harvest at the very moment the sun begins its return. For a city full of students and young professionals, it is a low-effort, high-meaning way to mark the festival: a blanket drive, a langar shift, a packet of warm food handed to someone sleeping out in the cold wave. The til-and-gur exchange is the sweet version of the same idea — small kindnesses to keep the year ahead warm.
Doing it well in 2026
A few gentle notes for this particular winter. The cold wave has been unusually sharp, so layer properly before a late-night bonfire and keep an eye on elderly relatives and very young children near open flames. If you are organising a community fire, keep a bucket of sand or water close and clear dry leaves from the perimeter. And consider scaling back on plastic-wrapped sweets and single-use cups — a Lohri organiser in Gandhi Nagar pointed out that the morning after, every colony park is carpeted in foil and paper.
None of this is complicated. That is the charm of it. For two cold, foggy nights, Jammu does the oldest thing in the book — it lights a fire, shares something sweet, and decides that winter is better faced together. Bring an extra packet of rewari. Someone always forgets.
