- I had childhood memories of muddy rivers. But why disasters are intensifying, what is the ecological price of disasters, Can Hill States be built differently. We must introduce a Himalyan Code of Infrastructure.
When I was a young boy in Himachal
Pradesh, the monsoon meant something very different from what it does today.
Back then, schools would shut down for two months, and we children had endless
days to wander the hills. My father’s government job often took us to the
remotest corners of the state. I remember standing by rivers swollen with rain,
watching the water churn-thick, muddy, and restless.
Even as a child, the sight worried me. I
wondered: Will these mighty hills someday be washed away by the very rains that
nurture them? In my imagination, the solution was simple—cover the mountains
with a dense, unbroken green canopy so that not a drop of rain could carry the
soil away.
As I grew older, I began to see the
intricate village ecological system—forests, pastures, water springs, farms,
homes—all bound together in a delicate balance. But when I later witnessed the furious pace of road-building, tunneling,
and hydropower projects in these same fragile slopes, I could not
reconcile it with the idea of true development. And today, after five decades,
watching the devastation of 2025 unfold, that childhood fear returns with even
more force. My heart bleeds as muddy rivers once again roar through the
valleys, carrying away lives, homes, and dreams.
The fury of 2025
The monsoon of 2025 will be etched into
Himalayan memory. Cloudbursts, flash floods, and landslides tore through
Himachal Pradesh, Uttarakhand, and Jammu & Kashmir. Highways were buried,
bridges collapsed, and entire villages cut off. The fragile geology of these
mountains has always made them vulnerable.
But this year’s destruction
was not just nature’s work. It was the outcome of climate extremes
colliding with reckless construction.
Why
disasters are intensifying
Scientists explain that warmer air holds
more moisture. When monsoon winds meet western disturbances, the result is
sudden, violent cloudbursts—sometimes dropping 100 mm of rain in just an hour.
With freezing levels rising, more precipitation now falls as rain rather than
snow, saturating slopes that were once frozen.
Meanwhile, glacial
lakes formed by retreating glaciers are swelling, raising the threat of sudden
outbursts. Together, these processes make the Himalayas a hotspot of
compound disasters—flash floods, landslides, and glacial lake bursts, all in
quick succession. But human action has made things worse. The Himalayas are not
only geologically young and unstable; they are also being reshaped by
bulldozers and blasting drills in the name of development.
Roads and tunnels: scars on
fragile slopes
The past decade has seen an
aggressive push to widen highways and build tunnels across the Himalayas. The
Char Dham project, four-laning of the Kiratpur–Manali highway, and dozens of
hydropower tunnels have left deep scars. Steep vertical cuttings, inadequate
drainage, and unchecked muck dumping have turned roads into landslide triggers.
Each monsoon, freshly cut slopes crumble,
blocking traffic and endangering lives. Hydropower tunnels, meanwhile, often
intercept underground aquifers, drying up springs that sustain mountain
communities.
The 2023 crisis in Joshimath was only one
stark example of what happens when tunneling collides with fragile terrain. Instead
of reducing vulnerability, many projects have engineered disasters into the
landscape.
The ecological price
Every collapsed road
represents more than a transport inconvenience. It means soil
erosion, biodiversity loss, and damaged rivers. Muck dumped into streams
suffocates aquatic life, while broken slopes fragment wildlife corridors. Springs—the
lifelines of hill villages—dry up, forcing women to walk longer for water.
Economically, the losses mount: farmers’
fields are swept away, tourist economies crumble, and rescue operations drain
public resources. For local people, “development” has too often meant
displacement, danger, and disillusionment.
Can we
build differently?
The Himalayas are not against
development—they are against reckless development. Lessons can be drawn from
other mountain nations. The Swiss Alps, the Andes, and Japan’s ranges show that
it is possible to build infrastructure that respects nature’s limits.
Some solutions are neither
exotic nor expensive
Drainage first, roads later. Water is the
enemy of stability. Proper catch drains, side drains, and cross-drainage structures
must be mandatory before any pavement is laid. Benched slopes, not vertical
walls. Gentle, stepped cuttings match the natural angle of stability, reducing
collapse risks. Bio-engineering. Vegetation can act as living armor. Coir
geotextiles, jute mats, vetiver grass, willow plantations—all help hold slopes
together. Recycle and reduce. Technologies like Full Depth Reclamation (FDR)
recycle old road material, saving money and reducing quarrying.
Smarter tunnels. Pre-excavation grouting
and waterproof linings can prevent tunnels from drying springs. Community water
monitoring ensures accountability.
Rockfall protection. Nets, meshes, and
catch fences—standard in the Alps—can prevent deaths from falling boulders.
Technology and early warning. Doppler radars,
satellite mapping, and AI-based landslide prediction must become part of the
Himalayan toolkit.
Towards a Himalayan Code of
Infrastructure
India now urgently needs a Himalayan
Sustainable Infrastructure Code. Such a code would:
1. Make landslide hazard zonation maps
mandatory before project approvals.
2. Enforce drainage-first construction,
with contractor payments tied to completed drainage.
3. Mandate that at least 30% of slopes be
stabilized through bio-engineering.
4. Require hydrogeological studies and
spring protection plans for all tunnels.
5. Tie payments to post-monsoon survival
audits.
6. Integrate real-time alerts from the
Geological Survey of India and IMD into highway management.
Such measures would not block development.
They would ensure that every rupee invested is not washed away with the next
monsoon.
A personal reckoning
For me, the devastation of 2025 is
painfully personal. I return in memory to that young boy standing by the river,
staring at muddy water rushing down the valleys. My instinct then was that the
mountains could only survive if we kept the rivers clear during the rains—by protecting forests, soils, and slopes.
Fifty years later, my fears have come
true. I have seen mighty rivers run brown with the soil of mountains, seen
homes collapse under landslides, and heard the despair of villagers whose springs dried up after a tunnel was cut through their
hills.
I have also seen reports and studies—like
those of ICIMOD—pleading for more sustainable, ecological methods of building
roads in mountain regions. Yet on the ground, what I still see is the same
pattern: cutting mountains carelessly, dumping muck indiscriminately, and
calling it progress. It is not too late to change. But if we continue like
this, the Himalayas may one day collapse not just under the weight of climate
change, but under the weight of our mistakes.
The way forward
The Himalayas are a living system. They
breathe through forests, springs, and soils. They are not obstacles to be
blasted aside, but partners in survival. Roads and tunnels will always be
needed, but they must be built with the mountains, not against them.
The devastation of 2025 is a wake-up call.
If we listen, we can still chart a future where the Himalayas remain green,
resilient, and generous. If we ignore it, we risk turning the world’s greatest
mountain range into rubble.
The
author is a Kangra, Himachal Pradesh based professional.
Also
read
1. Floods
in North India - Are We MANUFACTURING DISASTERS
2. Why Punjab cannot escape blame
for floods
3. What caused Uttarakhand Flash
Floods in 2025