OP Bhuraita
THE Himalayas are in a state of emergency. Recent tragedies include: terrible floods in Punjab; sudden, massive downpours that destroyed areas in Kishtwar (Jammu & Kashmir) and wiped out the villages of Thunag, Dharampur, and Jhanjhali in Himachal Pradesh. The village of Dharali in Uttarakhand was also swept away by powerful, fast-moving mud-slush. These events, once considered freak acts of nature, are now terrifyingly routine. They represent a new and brutal normal, where a single night's downpour can erase centuries of human settlements in minutes.
In the aftermath, a predictable, cynical cycle plays out. The media descends, broadcasting images of destruction and despair. Political leaders offer condolences and promises of unwavering support. Relief operators, often heroic in their efforts, provide temporary relief. But as the cameras leave and the headlines fade, the promises evaporate into the thin mountain air. The silence that follows is deafening, broken only by the next disaster. We have become trapped in a loop of reactive response, treating the symptoms while ignoring the profound, brewing disease.
To understand this crisis, one must look beyond the immediate imagery of destruction and listen to the voices from the ground – the scientists who decipher the changing climate and the experts who warn of our flawed development paradigm.
According to Dr SP Sati, a geologist from Uttarakhand, the intensity of these rains is born from a rare and dangerous meteorological cocktail. In reality, rainfall in North India occurs through two systems. The first is the south-west monsoon and the second is the western disturbance. Normally, these two systems have their own distinct, separate times allocated for the year. For example, western disturbances are typically active during the winter season, and the south-west monsoon is active during the summer.
However, an unusual situation sometimes arises when, during the summer period (the time from June to September when the south-west monsoon is active over the Himalayan region), a western disturbance also becomes active. Additionally, a low-pressure area forms here, and an abnormally high moisture-laden system moves directly from the Arabian Sea towards the Himalayas. This creates a rare confluence of three sources of moisture. As a result, this leads to simultaneous, intense rainfall in this region, spanning almost the entire western Himalayas and some parts of the central Himalayas. This abnormal condition can last for about a week.
A similar unusual situation was present during the June 2013 Kedarnath disaster. More or less, the same situation exists this time as well. The difference is that in 2013, the low-pressure area was primarily over Uttarakhand and some parts of Himachal Pradesh. Consequently, during that event, 16 or 17 rivers from the Kali River in the east to the Sutlej flooded simultaneously. In the current situation, the low-pressure area is over the entire western Himalayas and is more intense over Kashmir. This is why, during this period, almost every river from Kashmir to Uttarakhand is flowing near or above the danger mark. Because of this, widespread flooding is also being seen in the plains. The main reason for this is climate change.
Furthermore, it is also being observed that there is a major shift in the rainy season-it is either arriving earlier or staying later. For instance, in Uttarakhand, the monsoon arrived about one and a half weeks early in 2013, and in 2023 and 2024, it lasted until the end of October, i.e., a month later. Most alarmingly, torrential rains are now hitting high-altitude regions that were once less affected, putting the most fragile parts of the mountain ecosystem under intense strain.
HUMAN AMPLIFIER: A CRISIS OF PRIORITIES
While the atmospheric setup creates the conditions for heavy rain, it is human action that transforms a weather event into a human catastrophe. This is not a crisis of nature. It is a crisis of priorities. And unless we learn to regulate how we develop – and for whom – the Himalayas will keep reminding us of the price of our negligence.
The Himalayas are young and fragile mountains, formed by sedimentation and tectonic activity. This makes them unstable and sensitive to heavy construction. Building here needs a careful, different approach. But what's happening instead is dangerous. Deforestation, unchecked blasting for mega-projects, riverbed mining, and the spread of unsustainable infrastructure are pushing the fragile Himalayas beyond their limits. These mountains have a natural carrying capacity-a limit to how much human activity they can support. But overbuilding, unplanned tourism, and large-scale projects (like Char Dham all weather roads) are crossing that threshold, making the region more vulnerable to disasters. If we don't act wisely and urgently, we risk irreversible environmental damage and endangering the lives of millions who depend on these ecosystems, including those in the plains.
The story of the Himalayas over the past decades is one of a dangerous transformation. Roads built along rivers became magnets for unplanned urbanization. Towns (kasbas) sprung up on floodplains and unstable slopes, hosting multi-storey buildings, hotels, and schools, all in the relentless pursuit of economic opportunity, often without adequate geological assessment or regulatory oversight.
If we take the tragic example of Dharali, original village at a safer elevation was untouched, but the new settlement on the alluvial fan of a glacier-fed river was utterly devastated when water and glacial debris followed their natural course. So, who is to blame? The government, for permitting such development and often encouraging it without proper environmental safeguards? Or the people, who, though partially aware of the risks, settled in these areas due to lack of sustainable livelihood options...? In truth, we are all collectively responsible.
UNLEARNT LESSONS
The most damning indictment of our policy failure is that we have seen this script before-and chosen to ignore it. Take the tragedy of Chirgaon in Himachal Pradesh, where a cloudburst in 1997 killed over 200 people. The tragedy was blamed on nature. But in truth, it was a man-made disaster - the result of reckless decisions, unsustainable development, a crisis fueled by climate change, corporate-led exploitation of fragile mountain regions, and a continued disregard for scientific planning and local knowledge.
Twenty-eight years later, Chirgaon is more densely inhabited than before, with government buildings and a new bus stand standing on the very floodplain that was obliterated. The warnings from scientists after that disaster-to avoid building on floodplains, to regulate construction, and to preserve forests-were treated not as imperatives but as inconveniences. Why? Because to the political class, ecological safety is an inconvenience. Because to corporations and developers, rivers and forests are just untapped real estate.
This pattern of amnesia is enabled by a governance system that is reactive, not proactive. Disaster relief is performative; bulldozers and helicopters arrive after the fact, while preventive planning, scientific slope mapping, and community-based preparedness are starved of funds and political will.
Solving this crisis isn’t about stopping development-it’s about changing how we think about it. The real issue isn’t “development versus environment.” That debate distracts from the more important questions: What kind of development do we need? Who is it for? And how should it be done?
The answer lies in shifting away from top-down, profit-driven decisions and moving toward development that is planned and led by local communities. This approach-often called People’s Planning-puts local people at the center. It combines traditional knowledge of the land with modern science to create practical, local solutions.
To make this work, there needs to be a local decision-making platform where community members, scientists, and civil society groups can work together. This group would help identify risks, track development projects, and build sustainable plans that protect both people and nature.
Development cannot remain a centralised, top-down process disconnected from local realities. It must be grounded in the lived experiences, knowledge, and aspirations of the communities it aims to serve.
This means:
- Enforcing strict no-construction zones in identified high-risk areas.
- Mandatory, meaningful Environmental Impact Assessments that are not mere rubber stamps.
- Investing in ecological restoration: reforestation, watershed management, and slope stabilisation.
- Building decentralised, community-based early warning systems and disaster preparedness plans.
The Himalayas are speaking to us in the language of landslides and flash floods. And the science is clear: this is not an act of god. It is the outcome of climate disruption, political neglect, and corporate greed. We can no longer claim ignorance. The confluence in the atmosphere is dangerous, but the confluence of human greed, political neglect, and ecological fragility is deadly. The time for temporary fixes is over. What we need now is bold, inclusive, and preventive action – guided by science, grounded in community, and centered on justice.
The choice is ours: either continue down a path of destruction, or build a safer, more resilient future – starting today.
