Children and heat stress are becoming an increasingly serious climate risk, with 560 million children under 10 already exposed to at least one additional month of dangerous heat each year because of human-induced climate change.

In Chennai, Divya watches the clock more than the calendar. Her son is two. Most evenings she decides against the playground — the heat, the risk of dehydration, sunburn on skin that has barely had two summers to toughen up — and he stays indoors instead, missing the other children who might have become his friends. “I’m really worried that he won’t be able to experience the childhood that I did,” she says. It is not a single bad week she is describing. It is most of the year, most years, and she is far from alone in making that calculation.

Children and heat stress: The numbers behind a warming childhood

New research now puts a number on what parents like Divya have been working out for themselves. A study published in Science Advances by an international team led by the VUB’s Department of Water and Climate — with collaborators from ETH Zurich, Oxford, the University of Waikato and the Potsdam Institute — is the first to quantify, age group by age group, how much of the world’s heat exposure can be pinned specifically on human-induced climate change rather than natural variability. The answer, for children aged 0–9, is stark: 560 million of them (43 per cent of all children in that age bracket worldwide) are already exposed to at least one additional month of dangerous heat stress a year that would not exist in a world without fossil-fuel emissions. That is nearly three times the 190 million people aged 60–69 (30 per cent) facing the same additional burden.

What “heat stress” actually means here

The study doesn’t count ordinary hot days. It uses wet-bulb globe temperature (WBGT) — a measure that folds in humidity, sunlight and wind, not just the thermometer reading — and defines a “heat stress day” as one where shaded WBGT crosses 28°C, the threshold at which health guidance recommends reduced activity or structured rest. An “additional” heat stress day is one that attribution science shows would not have occurred in a pre-industrial climate.

This distinction matters because humid heat is far more dangerous than dry heat: once humidity climbs high enough, sweat stops evaporating, and the body’s main cooling mechanism simply fails. A companion explainer accompanying the study notes that the same 30°C can feel pleasant at 30 per cent humidity and be suffocating — even lethal over time — at 85 per cent. Extreme heat already kills roughly half a million people a year, making it the deadliest form of extreme weather, and researchers estimate that nine in ten of those deaths go uncounted in official records.

How the numbers were built: researchers combined 2023 population data with climate models and attribution science — the branch of climate research that isolates how much of an observed trend is due to human-caused warming rather than natural variability — comparing today’s climate against a modelled pre-industrial one with today’s population overlaid. The 1.5°C and 2°C projections assume a “middle-of-the-road” path for both future emissions and demographic change.

The scale, by the numbers

• 560 million children aged 0–9 (43%) face at least one additional month of climate-driven heat stress today.
• 350 million (27%) face at least five months of total heat stress a year — nearly triple the 120 million adults aged 60–69 (18%) who do.
• Climate change has nearly tripled the number of children enduring five-plus months of dangerous heat, from 120 million in a hypothetical world without warming to 350 million today.
• Under 1.5°C of global warming — a threshold current policy trajectories are likely to overshoot — exposure rises to 620 million children (49%).
• Under 2°C, it rises further to 650 million children (59%), with 420 million (37%) facing five-plus months a year.

Children are hit hardest not because of where they happen to live, but because of demographics colliding with geography: the tropical and lower-income regions where climate-driven humid heat is intensifying fastest also happen to have the youngest populations. As global warming continues, the proportion of children exposed keeps climbing even in countries where ageing populations mean the absolute number of children eventually falls.

South Asia carries the heaviest load

Three regions post the highest absolute numbers of exposed children: South Asia, Southeast Asia and West Africa. South Asia alone accounts for the largest single share.

• South Asia (SAS): 167.4 million children (62%) are exposed to at least one additional month of heat stress today. Climate change has doubled the number enduring five-plus months — from 80 million to 156.6 million children, or 58 per cent of the region’s under-tens. At 2°C, that climbs to 93 per cent facing at least a month, and 73 per cent facing five months or more.
• India: 145 million children (61%) are exposed today, with the five-month-plus group doubling from 59 million to 118 million (50%). At 2°C, 96 per cent of Indian children aged 0–9 — 169 million — would face at least a month of added heat stress annually, and 120 million (68%) would face five months or more.
• Bangladesh: 79 per cent of children already exposed; the five-month-plus group has nearly tripled to 26 million (91% of the country’s under-tens).
• Southeast Asia (SEA): 90 per cent of children exposed today; the five-month-plus figure has nearly quadrupled to 72.6 million (72%).
• West Africa (WAF): 96 per cent of children exposed today across the region; nineteen countries — including Benin, Burkina Faso, Cambodia, Côte d’Ivoire, Ghana, Mali, Niger, Senegal and Sierra Leone — already have effectively 100 per cent of their under-ten population facing at least one additional month of heat stress a year.

The India figures carry particular weight: three in five Indian children under ten are already losing at least a month a year to dangerous heat that would not exist without fossil-fuel emissions, and that share could approach universal — 96 per cent — within a couple of decades of continued warming.

Voices behind the data

Bhavreen Kandhari, founder of the Delhi-based parents’ collective Warrior Moms, described watching “childhood shrink” in the capital’s summers, telling researchers that mothers now check temperature readings the way they once checked air-quality indices before letting children outside. She noted that India has recently classified heatwaves as a notified natural calamity — an overdue acknowledgement, she said, of what families have lived through for years.

In Chennai, dermatologist and mother Vaaruni Ravishankar said the heat has pushed her toddler’s outdoor time later and later into the evening, edging out the unstructured outdoor play that paediatric development research consistently favours.

And from Bangladesh, 17-year-old child campaigner Imtiaz described nights that stay warm long after sunset, meaning children “wake up still tired” before another exhausting day of heat begins — a pattern he said drains energy, concentration and, ultimately, education.

Rosa Pietroiusti, the study’s lead author and a PhD researcher at VUB, said children in developing countries face disproportionate climate exposure “despite contributing the least to historical greenhouse gas emissions,” while poverty, poor housing and stretched health systems leave many with few ways to protect themselves. Senior author Professor Wim Thiery called for both drastic emissions cuts in line with the Paris Agreement and a sharp increase in climate finance and adaptation support — heat action plans, resilient housing, stronger public health systems — for the countries carrying the heaviest exposure.

An echo of Wayanad

This is a different hazard from the one EdPublica‘s Vaishnavi VS covered last month in After Kerala’s Deadliest Landslide, the Hardest Thing to Rebuild Was Childhood — a landslide rather than a heatwave, a single catastrophic event rather than a slow accumulation of hot months. That reporting followed GVHSS Vellarmala, the Wayanad school where 33 students died and 97 more were directly affected when the Chooralmala–Mundakkai landslide killed 298 people in July 2024, and traced how teachers with no trauma training improvised their way to a full recovery — mapping each surviving child’s interests, bringing in outside experts, and eventually getting seven grief-stricken students back into their SSLC exam hall for a 100 per cent pass rate.

The story also cited a UNICEF finding that puts heat squarely back in this frame: at least 242 million students across 85 countries had their schooling disrupted by climate extremes in 2024 alone, with heatwaves alone affecting an estimated 171 million students worldwide and South Asia the worst-hit region at 128 million. Landslide or heatwave, sudden or slow-accumulating, the two stories describe the same underlying vulnerability — children’s education and wellbeing absorbing the cost of a warming climate, and recovery systems that are, more often than not, being built on the fly rather than in advance.

Back in Chennai, none of this is abstract to Divya. She isn’t tracking wet-bulb globe temperatures or reading climate-attribution papers; she is deciding, most evenings, whether it is safe enough to let her son go outside. Multiply her calculation by 560 million children, in cities and villages from Dhaka to Dakar, and the shape of the number stops being statistical. It is a generation quietly being kept indoors, evening by evening, by a hazard their parents did not create and cannot switch off.

Featured image: Indian girl covering her face with her clothing during the harsh Indian summers. Image credit: Anurag Jamwal/UnSplash

A flood can destroy a house in a few hours. Paying for that loss can take years. For an insured homeowner, part of the cost may come from an insurer. A farmer with crop insurance may recover some agricultural losses. But much of India’s disaster damage has no equivalent financial protection. Estimates cited by Reuters put the share of disaster-related losses covered by insurance in India at only around 5%.

The contrast with the global picture is significant. The Swiss Re Institute estimated that natural catastrophes caused about $100 billion in economic losses worldwide in the first half of 2026. Around 42 billion dollars, or 42%, was insured. For India, the much smaller share means that most of the financial burden remains with households, businesses and governments.

Where Does the Money Come From?

India already has a system for financing disaster response. The State Disaster Response Fund (SDRF) is the main source of immediate relief for states. The National Disaster Response Fund (NDRF) can provide additional assistance after severe disasters. But relief and insurance do different jobs.

Government assistance can help a family whose house has been damaged, but it does not necessarily cover the full cost of rebuilding. A state can spend public money repairing a damaged road or bridge, but that does not recover the economic activity lost while it was unusable.

For families, the difference may have to be met through savings or borrowing. For farmers, losing a crop can affect the next season as well. Small businesses may lose income while they repair or replace damaged assets. Some losses may never be recovered. That is the significance of the insurance gap. It shows how little of the financial risk has been transferred away from those directly exposed to disasters.

India Does Insure Some Disaster Risks

The country already has a substantial agricultural insurance system. The Pradhan Mantri Fasal Bima Yojana (PMFBY) covers crops against several risks, including drought, floods, cyclones, inundation and hailstorms. But crop insurance covers the crop, not necessarily everything else a farmer owns.

A flood can destroy a crop, house, livestock, machinery and shop at the same time. Only some of these losses may have insurance protection. The wider gap is therefore not simply about whether people have insurance. It is about how much of the assets and economic activity exposed to disasters are financially protected.

A Faster Way to Pay

One approach being explored is parametric insurance. Traditional insurance generally requires the actual damage to be assessed before a claim is settled. Parametric insurance uses a predefined trigger — such as a particular level of rainfall, wind speed or temperature. Once the trigger is reached, a predetermined payment is made. The advantage is speed. A payout does not have to wait for every individual loss to be assessed.

India has already experimented with such models. Nagaland has used parametric disaster insurance, while other pilots have examined risks such as floods and extreme heat. A nationwide climate-linked insurance programme has also been discussed, although India does not yet have a comprehensive national disaster-insurance scheme.

Parametric insurance also has a weakness: the trigger may not perfectly match an individual’s actual loss. A household could suffer serious damage without crossing the policy threshold, or receive a payout that does not correspond exactly to its losses. The design of the trigger therefore matters.

Kerala is Trying Another Approach

Kerala is among the states looking more closely at disaster-risk financing. The Kerala State Disaster Management Authority has been developing a Disaster Risk Financing and Insurance (DRFI) framework, including work on parametric and indemnity insurance.

In February 2026, the state gave in-principle approval for a comprehensive group insurance scheme for Below Poverty Line families, combining the two approaches. The idea is to arrange part of the financial protection before a disaster occurs rather than relying entirely on relief after it. That distinction becomes important for a state that has experienced repeated floods and landslides.

Insurance Cannot Undo a Disaster

Insurance is only one part of the equation. Reducing exposure through safer construction, better drainage, land-use planning, early-warning systems and stronger infrastructure remains essential. But prevention and insurance address different parts of the problem.

Prevention can reduce the size of the loss. Insurance can determine who carries the remaining financial risk. This matters because the uninsured portion does not disappear. It moves elsewhere — into government relief and reconstruction budgets, household savings, loans, business losses and delayed recovery.

For India, the challenge is therefore not simply to sell more insurance policies. It is to decide which disaster risks should be borne by households and businesses, which should be pooled through insurance, and which require government backing. As disaster losses become more financially significant, that decision will increasingly affect how quickly families recover, how much governments have to spend after each event, and how much of the cost is ultimately borne by people who had the least capacity to absorb it.

The most revealing number after a disaster may therefore not be the amount of damage alone. It may be how much of that damage was actually insured.

The Rasuwa disaster (Nepal flash floods) has killed more than 1,000 people in Nepal and China and left thousands missing. The catastrophe exposes a harder problem than the absence of an alarm: how do you protect communities and infrastructure when mountain hazards can cascade within minutes?

On the morning of August 26, a mass of ice and rock broke loose high in Nepal’s Rasuwa district and plunged roughly 1,200 metres into the valley below. Within minutes, the resulting debris and water surged into the Bhotekoshi River system.

A week later, the scale of the disaster is far clearer and far more devastating than initial reports suggested. Nepal’s National Disaster Risk Reduction and Management Authority (NDRRMA) has reported 1,050 deaths and 3,916 people missing. China has reported another 16 deaths and 546 missing in the affected area across the border, taking the combined death toll to 1,066. More than 11,800 people have been rescued in Nepal, but the search continues in remote valleys and at damaged hydropower projects. The numbers continue to shift as rescue teams recover bodies and families search for missing relatives.

Nepal flash floods expose the limits of early warning

Researchers analyzing satellite imagery, seismic signals, and video footage say the flood was likely triggered by an ice-rock avalanche rather than a conventional glacial lake outburst flood (GLOF). The distinction matters: while a glacial lake’s water levels and drainage systems can be monitored for early warnings, an unstable mountain slope can fail suddenly, turning a quiet landscape into a debris corridor within minutes.

A disaster that outran the warning system

ICIMOD’s assessment notes that the collapse occurred around 8:37 am Nepal Standard Time, producing a magnitude 5.2 seismic signal. Hydrological data shows how rapidly the event unfolded: water levels on the Trishuli River at Galchchi rose nine metres in just 30 minutes, while levels at Malekhu rose seven metres in a similar window, washing away several monitoring stations in the process.

This highlights a hard reality in disaster management: a warning system is only useful if there is enough lead time to act.

Dr. Farooq Azam, Senior Cryosphere Specialist at ICIMOD, described the Rasuwa event as a sudden-onset hazard with no detection and no time for warnings. Because deep-seated bedrock or sub-glacial instabilities remain invisible to standard surveillance, identifying a failure point in advance is rarely possible. The take-away isn’t that early-warning systems are useless, but rather that they cannot be the sole pillars of Himalayan safety.

From early warning to early preparedness

When casualties run into the thousands, the scope of the problem extends far beyond simple flood management. Nearly 1.6 million people have been affected across a broad area, with extensive destruction to roads, bridges, markets, communications, and power grids. As of September 1, NDRRMA figures show at least 639 hydropower workers missing, while over 21,000 security personnel remain deployed for search and rescue.

When a sudden mountain hazard strikes, built infrastructure often compounds the catastrophe. Destroyed roads delay emergency crews, collapsed bridges isolate entire villages, damaged power plants force dangerous confined-space rescues, and lost monitoring stations blind teams downstream.

Because of this, Azam advocates shifting focus toward long-term resilience: stricter land-use planning, safer infrastructure siting, and public awareness of high-altitude risks. He emphasizes that environmental impact assessments must evaluate how a shifting mountain landscape will affect a project over its entire operational lifetime—not just during construction. Planners can no longer just ask if a bridge or power plant can survive today’s weather; they have to design for conditions 30, 50, or 70 years down the line.

The Himalayas are not a static landscape

While current scientific evidence does not draw a direct line from climate change to this single avalanche, the event occurred within a mountain ecosystem experiencing rapid physical changes.

Glaciological assessments show accelerating mass loss across the Himalayas, with negative mass balance recorded in 89% of observed years over the last five decades. The Hindu Kush Himalaya region has also seen significant 21st-century warming, rising between 0.15°C and 0.60°C per decade.

These shifts ripple through the whole ecosystem. Snow cover patterns are shifting, permafrost is thawing, and slope stability is deteriorating. Thawing permafrost is particularly concerning high up, where frozen ground acts as a natural glue; as it thaws, erosion, landslides, and slope failure increase, directly threatening down-valley infrastructure. Climate change doesn’t need to directly trigger an avalanche to make the entire region significantly more fragile.

Black carbon is another pressure on the cryosphere

Particulate pollution presents another major stressor. A study by Climate Trends found that black carbon concentrations on the Indian side of the Himalayas rose by roughly 7.74% between 2000–09 and 2010–19. The study recorded a notable jump in average snow-surface temperatures, which rose from -11.27°C (2000–09) to -7.13°C (2020–23).

Black carbon darkens snow, reducing its reflectivity and accelerating surface melting. Because mountain ice acts as a natural water reservoir for downstream populations, this melting threatens long-term water security. While black carbon didn’t explicitly cause the Rasuwa slide, it underscores why regional environmental risks must be tackled holistically rather than in isolated hazard buckets.

The problem begins with where we build

Ultimately, the hardest questions around Rasuwa are geographical: Where are we building towns, laying roads, and placing power plants?

Over recent decades, infrastructure has steadily encroached onto lower riverbanks and active floodplains. While older communities historically built on higher ground to avoid active river channels, modern land-use planning frequently ignores these natural boundaries. Bringing local and indigenous geographical knowledge back into modern engineering decisions is a practical starting point for adaptation.

Anjal Prakash, Professor of Public Policy at FLAME University and an IPCC author, points out that the region does not suffer from a lack of science. Researchers have tracked retreating glaciers, changing permafrost, and rising snowlines for decades. The failure, he argues, lies in policy— translating well-documented risks into smarter zoning and construction choices.

A regional disaster cannot be managed country by country

The Rasuwa crisis also demonstrates why disaster planning cannot stop at national borders. The affected river systems cross international boundaries, the failure originated near the Nepal-China border, and the resulting debris washed through multiple downstream jurisdictions.

The World Meteorological Organization points to this as a clear example of cascading transboundary hazards. Aarti Khosla, Director of Climate Trends, similarly notes that risks across the Hindu Kush Himalaya affect India and neighboring countries equally, requiring joint approaches to monitoring, early warning, and climate adaptation.

Data sharing across borders is essential. A flood warning downstream in one country often relies on sensor data from upstream in another. When development choices or infrastructure failures in one nation can trigger impacts across the border, regional coordination becomes a necessity rather than an option.

The future risk is not just more floods

Disaster risk in the Himalayas is often oversimplified into a single concept: Glacial Lake Outburst Floods (GLOFs).

GLOFs are a major threat, but the vocabulary needs to expand. The mountains face ice falls, rockslides, landslide-dammed rivers, debris flows, and slope failures—often interacting all at once. An avalanche blocks a river; the temporary dam holds back water until it breaches; the resulting torrent sweeps up massive amounts of rock and earth; the debris wipes out bridges and monitoring equipment, leaving downstream teams blind to what is coming next. Preparing for mountain hazards means preparing for these linked multi-stage events, not just isolated floods.

What preparedness should look like now

A practical response requires pairing early-warning technology with long-term climate adaptation:

• Diversify warning networks: Expand river sensors, satellite tracking, and local alert channels where lead time exists, while planning for events that offer no notice at all.

• Update zoning and land use: Base building regulations on dynamic river and slope modeling rather than static historical maps.

• Mandate life-cycle risk assessments: Require infrastructure projects to factor in climate and cryosphere projections over their entire intended lifespan.

• Build system redundancy: Ensure communications, transit routes, and monitoring stations have backups so a single failure point doesn’t collapse an entire emergency response.

• Integrate local knowledge: Use community insights on historical floods and terrain stability alongside satellite and scientific data.

• Formalize transboundary cooperation: Share real-time hydrological, seismic, and weather data across international borders.

The mountains are changing. Policy must catch up.

The long-term outlook for the region is stark. Under high-emissions scenarios, Himalayan glaciers could lose over 60% of their volume by 2100; even moderate scenarios project losses of up to 35%.

These projections outline a fundamental transformation of the mountain environment. Glacial retreat initially leads to periods of higher runoff—”peak water”—followed by declining long-term water availability, directly impacting farming, drinking water, and energy production across South Asia.

As UN Climate Change Executive Secretary Simon Stiell has noted, rising temperatures are making severe mountain disasters more frequent. In the Himalayas, the core issue is that expanding human settlements and multi-million-dollar infrastructure projects are sitting in the path of a rapidly changing landscape designed around historical climate assumptions.

When a mountain moves without warning, safety relies entirely on decisions made years or decades before the collapse happens.