Khareef, Salalah and the voice of Kishore Kumar

There are moments in life when an old photograph is no longer just a photograph. It becomes a doorway. A forgotten memory quietly opens and suddenly the years disappear. We are no longer standing in the present; we are walking once again through the gardens of our childhood, listening to songs that time itself has refused to silence.
This happened to me a few days ago.
As I often do during my free time, I began searching through old cupboards, bookshelves, drawers, albums, wristwatches and little keepsakes that have accompanied me through different chapters of my life. Every object seemed to carry its own silent story.
Then, hidden among my papers, I found a collection of magnificent photographs of Khareef in Salalah, beautifully captured by Dr Hanif Shareef. They were not ordinary photographs. They were works of art. Every image had been taken with remarkable professionalism, but more importantly, with affection. His camera had not merely photographed Salalah; it had captured its soul.
As I looked at those photographs, I realised something extraordinary. They did not allow me to remain in my room. Within seconds, they transported me hundreds of kilometres south, into the mist-covered mountains of Dhofar, where the clouds descend to embrace the earth and where every tree seems to whisper a welcome to its visitors.
Almost instinctively, another companion joined the journey. The timeless voice of Kishore Kumar. Whenever I think of Khareef, I cannot separate it from his unforgettable melodies. As I gazed at the photographs, I found myself quietly humming one of my favourite songs: 'Yeh mausam aaya hai itne saalon mein, Aa ja ke kho jaayein baagon baharon mein...'.
What beautiful words. This season has arrived after so many years; come, let us lose ourselves among the gardens and blossoms. If there is any place where these lyrics truly come alive, it is Salalah during Khareef. Nature itself seems to sing those words through every leaf, every mountain and every passing cloud.
Those photographs also carried me back to another destination — not Salalah, but my childhood in the 1980s. It was a simpler world. We owned fewer things but treasured them more. We waited patiently for songs on the radio. A cassette player was enough to fill an entire evening with happiness. Kishore Kumar's voice was more than entertainment; it became part of our emotions, our dreams and our family gatherings. Even today, decades later, a single melody from Kishore Da has the power to awaken memories that had quietly fallen asleep.
A photograph has no market value, but it may hold an entire lifetime within its frame. A song lasts only a few minutes, yet it can preserve emotions for generations. Perhaps memories are the only investments that continue to appreciate with time.
Looking carefully at Dr Shareef's photographs, I found myself admiring every detail. A magnificent ancient tree stood proudly in the middle of dense mist, spreading its branches like open arms welcoming strangers into its peaceful kingdom. It reminded me that true strength is always calm. Trees never compete with one another. They simply continue growing, offering shade to everyone without asking who deserves it.
Another photograph showed a lonely road disappearing into thick fog. The streetlights glowed softly, as though trying to guide travellers through uncertainty. How similar life is to that road. None of us can see very far ahead. We often walk into tomorrow surrounded by uncertainty, yet we continue moving forward with hope. Khareef teaches us that not every beautiful journey requires perfect visibility.
As evening descended over the mountains, another Kishore Kumar masterpiece quietly entered my thoughts: 'Kora Kagaz Tha Ye Man Mera'.
Music has an extraordinary gift. It does not describe places; it colours them. Every mist-covered hill seemed softer beneath Kishore Da's voice. Every green valley appeared more romantic. Every gentle breeze became part of the orchestra.
Then another timeless melody followed: 'Pal Pal Dil Ke Paas, Tum Rehti Ho...'.
Listening to these songs while watching Khareef is a unique experience. The lyrics are no longer addressed to a person alone. They seem to speak directly to Salalah itself. Every moment remains close to the heart long after the journey has ended.
Khareef is much more than a season. It is a reminder that beauty cannot be manufactured. It arrives quietly, without advertisement or invitation. The clouds do not ask for applause. The waterfalls do not perform for audiences. The trees simply continue their silent conversation with the rain.
Perhaps that is why every visitor leaves carrying something invisible. Some take home photographs. Some buy fragrances “bukhoor”. Some return with local honey. Others remember the taste of mishli.
As for me, I returned carrying three precious gifts: the breathtaking photographs of Dr Shareef, the unforgettable beauty of Salalah and above all, the immortal voice of Kishore Da, whose songs continue to echo whenever the clouds gather over Dhofar.