Heatwaves are silently becoming one of India’s most dangerous climate threats, even as they continue to fall outside the country’s formal disaster framework. Unlike floods or cyclones, extreme heat leaves no visible destruction, but it claims lives quietly and steadily, especially among those who are most exposed and least protected.
Every summer, temperatures in large parts of India cross 45 degrees Celsius. People collapse at construction sites, in agricultural fields, inside poorly ventilated homes, or while walking long distances for water. These deaths rarely make headlines. Heat-related fatalities are often recorded under causes such as cardiac arrest, dehydration, or respiratory failure, masking the true impact of extreme heat.
Public health experts say heat deaths are rarely identified unless conditions are unusually severe. This invisibility has serious consequences. When deaths are not counted, they are not prioritised. When they are not prioritised, there is little funding, planning, or accountability.
Why heat exposure is built into everyday life
India’s economic structure makes millions vulnerable to extreme heat. A large share of the workforce is engaged in outdoor or semi-outdoor labour, including farming, construction, sanitation, street vending, and delivery services. Many of these workers have no choice but to continue working through peak heat hours.
Urban areas face an added challenge. Dense construction, limited green spaces, paved surfaces, and poor ventilation trap heat, creating urban heat islands where temperatures remain high even at night. In informal settlements, lack of electricity, water access, and cooling options worsens the risk.
Climate change is intensifying these conditions. Heatwaves are arriving earlier, lasting longer, and becoming more severe, often catching governments and health systems unprepared.
Why heatwaves are still not treated as disasters
India’s disaster management system was designed around sudden, visible events such as floods, earthquakes, and cyclones. Heatwaves, by contrast, are slow-onset disasters. Their impacts accumulate over time, making it harder to assign responsibility or trigger emergency responses.
There is also a policy discomfort in recognising heat as a disaster. Doing so would require difficult decisions such as restricting outdoor work during peak hours, enforcing labour protections, redesigning urban spaces, and investing in public cooling infrastructure. These steps challenge development models that prioritise productivity over safety.
Data gaps further weaken action. Without robust systems to track heat-related deaths and illnesses, policymakers lack the evidence needed to push reforms, creating a cycle where inaction feeds poor data and poor data feeds inaction.
Over the past decade, several Indian cities have introduced heat action plans. Cities such as Ahmedabad, Nagpur, Bhubaneswar, and Surat have implemented early warning systems, public advisories, hospital preparedness measures, and inter-departmental coordination.
These efforts have saved lives. Ahmedabad’s early interventions significantly reduced heat-related mortality when first introduced. However, most heat action plans remain advisory rather than mandatory. They rely heavily on awareness campaigns and often overlook informal workers who lack legal protection or social security.
Cooling centres and water kiosks exist but are frequently inaccessible to those who need them most. While heat action plans demonstrate what is possible, they cannot substitute for deeper institutional reform.
The economic and health cost of ignoring heat
Extreme heat already imposes a heavy economic burden. Studies show that heat stress reduces labour productivity across agriculture, construction, and manufacturing. Lost work hours translate into lost income for workers and broader economic losses for the country.
The healthcare system also bears the strain. Heat worsens chronic illnesses, increases hospital admissions, and overwhelms emergency services. Yet heat preparedness remains marginal in large-scale public health planning.
Women, children, the elderly, and people with existing health conditions face disproportionate risks. For them, heat is not just uncomfortable, it is life-threatening.
India has begun to recognise heat as a serious risk, but recognition without classification has limits. As long as heatwaves remain outside the disaster framework, they will continue to kill quietly, with the greatest toll borne by the most vulnerable.
Climate change is reshaping India’s risk landscape. Extreme heat is no longer an occasional hazard; it is becoming a defining feature of daily life. The real question is not whether India can afford to treat heatwaves as disasters, but whether it can afford not to.
Until heat deaths are properly counted, heat disasters will remain invisible.