Climate
Every Rumble Sounds Like the Mountain Falling Again: Inside Meppadi’s Second Landslide in Two Years
A community that survived one of India’s deadliest landslides is still relearning how to live with the sound of the hills coming down.
On July 7, 2026, around 11 a.m., a rumble echoed through Meppadi and a six-year-old boy ran. He had stayed home from school that day. The moment he heard the sound, he rushed to his mother, wrapped his arms around her, and refused to let go. He was trembling. For him, the sound wasn’t just noise. It was 2024 again.
The boy had survived the Chooralmala landslide that killed hundreds of his neighbours two years ago, and he has been in counselling ever since. On this day, a new landslide six kilometres away, at the Anakkompoyil–Meenakshi tunnel construction site in Kalladi, had reopened the wound.
“For him, it was like reliving the 2024 landslide,” his grandmother, Roshna Yusaf, a social worker and former Meppadi block panchayat member, told EdPublica. “The moment he heard the familiar sound again, he came running and held on to his mother. He refused to stay apart.”
Meppadi is a small hill town in Wayanad, a hilly district in the southern Indian state of Kerala, set in the Western Ghats — a steep, rain-soaked mountain range that runs down India’s western coast and is globally recognised as one of the world’s biodiversity hotspots. It was here, in July 2024, that a series of landslides buried the neighbouring villages of Mundakkai and Chooralmala, killing hundreds of people in one of the deadliest disasters in Kerala’s history. Two years on, Meppadi panchayat — the local administrative area that includes both those villages, Kalladi, and the town itself — is still rebuilding. In July 2026, it happened again.
The Kalladi landslide killed eight people — seven migrant workers and the project’s construction manager — in a disaster that geo-scientists have since called preventable, pointing to inadequate geological and hydrological study for a tunnel driven through fragile Western Ghats terrain. Rescue operations ran for six days before all the bodies were recovered. Around 40 families from nearby Meenakshi were moved to relief camps.
For Meppadi, still rebuilding after the 2024 Chooralmala–Mundakkai disaster, it was not an isolated accident. It was a second interruption to childhoods, livelihoods, and a fragile sense of security the community had spent two years trying to rebuild.
When Childhood Is Interrupted
The six-year-old is one of many children in Meppadi still carrying the trauma of repeated landslides. For them, the sound of heavy rain or collapsing earth is enough to bring back memories they have spent months trying to overcome.
The latest disaster has again disrupted their education.
“It has been only one month since schools reopened. Now the children cannot go to school,” said Biji Zhacahi, a mother of two from Meenakshi.
“Every year, it is the children’s future that gets disrupted. Because of these repeated incidents, some children even become reluctant to go to school. As parents, we are always worried about their safety.”
Roshna pointed out how narrowly the community escaped a far larger tragedy. The Kalladi landslide struck at 11 a.m. — a school day, but after the morning rush.
“If the landslide had happened in the morning, many students could have lost their lives, because they usually board their school buses from the nearby bus stop,” she said.
For many families, interrupted schooling — and the fear of sending children to school at all — has become another fixture of every monsoon.
Women Living in Uncertainty
Repeated landslides have also reshaped daily life for women, many of whom manage households alone while their husbands work abroad.
“Women here have forgotten how to smile,” Roshna said. Years of facing one disaster after another, she said, have left many women emotionally exhausted.
“Every time it rains heavily, the same questions come back — what if another landslide happens, where do we run, how do we protect our children? The fear never really leaves.”
When Livelihoods Depend on the Weather
The uncertainty extends well beyond the home. It touches almost every livelihood in Meppadi.
“When it rains, it rains continuously for several days,” said Krishna Raj, a shop owner in Meppadi town. “Transportation becomes difficult. We have to travel to nearby towns to bring supplies for our shops, but during heavy rain that is not always possible.”
With roads frequently cut off, even running a small business becomes a gamble.
For jeep driver Mansoor Ali, every journey through the hills carries its own anxiety.
“It is very scary to drive here at night,” he said. “Whenever I hear a loud sound, I fear it is another landslide. In the dark, we don’t even know where to run. That is how most drivers here live.”
Many residents had already shifted from agriculture to tourism after repeated crop losses from wild animal attacks made farming increasingly difficult. Landslides, and the restrictions on tourist movement that follow them, have now unsettled that livelihood too.
“People moved to tourism because farming became difficult,” said Sijo, who works in the sector. “Now tourist visits and homestays have also been affected.”
For many families in Meppadi, there is no livelihood the monsoon has left untouched.
A Tunnel That Brings Hope — and Questions
Despite the tragedy at the construction site, residents largely continue to support the Anakkompoyil–Meenakshi (Kalladi–Meppadi) tunnel project. The twin-tunnel road is meant to cut straight through the hills separating hilly, landlocked Wayanad from the neighbouring coastal district of Malappuram, replacing the long, congested detour drivers currently take over the Thamarassery Ghat — a winding mountain pass notorious for accidents and traffic jams.
“We have great expectations from this project,” said Nishal, a resident of Meenakshi. “Better connectivity is something people here have needed for years.” At the same time, he added, residents are uneasy about how the construction is being carried out.
Roshna fears that soil excavated from the tunnel is being dumped on the slopes above her home. “If more soil is dumped above the mountain, many houses, including mine, could be affected,” she said. “I am 56 years old. I cannot build another house.”
Her fear echoes the explanation Kerala’s government has itself offered for the disaster: a state minister called it not a natural landslide but a man-made one, a clear case of lapse, and said the district collector had warned the tunnel’s contractor, Konkan Railway, in writing about the danger — a warning that went unheeded. Following the incident, the Kerala government suspended all construction on the Rs 2,134-crore tunnel project pending two separate investigations.
Nishal recalled that a strong artesian spring had emerged during the tunnel’s initial construction phase the previous summer. A paddy field near the site had also been cleared and filled in by the construction company, he said, and inadequate drainage afterward let water and loosened soil flow downhill. Many residents, he added, still don’t know whether they will eventually be displaced, because the project’s final alignment has never been clearly communicated to them.
“People have doubts because they don’t have clear information,” he said. “But almost everyone supports the project because we need better connectivity.”
The tension between that need and its risks is not new. A legal challenge to the tunnel had argued that it cut through an ecologically fragile region already prone to repeated landslides, and that environmental safeguards were inadequate. In April 2026, the Supreme Court declined to halt construction, calling the project one of significant public importance and leaving compliance to statutory regulators. The court settled the legal question. The Kalladi landslide reopened the scientific one.
A Disaster With a Familiar Shape
The parallels to 2024 are not just emotional; they are geological. Both disasters struck the same short stretch of hill country in Meppadi panchayat, where a thick layer of weathered, unconsolidated lateritic soil sits over highly fractured bedrock — a combination that loses its shear strength rapidly once intense rainfall raises pore-water pressure inside the slope. Researchers who studied the 2024 disaster concluded that this fragile geology, not any single cause, was what turned extreme rain into a catastrophic slope failure, and warned that the region’s concave slopes, which concentrate runoff, remain especially susceptible to future failures.
The 2024 Chooralmala–Mundakkai landslide remains one of the deadliest in Kerala’s history. Official confirmed deaths stood at 231 for months, before the state government declared all 32 people still listed as missing to be dead, in a notification issued on February 10, 2025 — a bureaucratic closing of the books that, for families, only formalised a grief they had already been living with. Independent researchers, using different counting methods, have since put the true toll considerably higher.
For Meppadi, that history is why an eight-death landslide at a tunnel site feels less like a new disaster than a recurrence — proof that a community built on some of the most landslide-prone slopes in the Western Ghats has yet to find a way to build, or to grieve, that outlasts the next monsoon.
A Town That Never Stops Recovering
For Meppadi, the latest landslide is not an isolated tragedy. It is another interruption in a recovery that never seems to end.
Children grow up carrying trauma. Women wait anxiously through every spell of rain. Workers wonder whether their livelihoods will survive another monsoon.
Yet amid the uncertainty, residents say it is the community’s solidarity that helps them move forward.
“From the NDRF and Fire and Rescue teams to local people, everyone stands together with one heart to rebuild the area,” said Meppadi Grama Panchayat President Ramla Hamza. “The resilience of the people, even after facing repeated disasters, makes these difficult times a little easier to bear.”
The rescue teams have left, and the roads will eventually reopen.
But in Meppadi, the true cost of living is not measured only in damaged homes or lost income. It is measured in a community forced to begin recovering all over again, every time the hills give way.
Ground report from Meppadi, Wayanad, Kerala, India. Some names of residents quoted appear as given to our reporter in the field.
Climate
When the Monsoon Returns, Fear Returns: How Climate Disasters Are Reshaping Mental Health in Himachal Pradesh
In Himachal Pradesh, repeated floods and landslides are reshaping mental health in the mountains — but disaster policy still doesn’t see it.
“As soon as the monsoon arrives, fear spreads across the village. People panic because they have already seen what these rains can do. In 2023 and again in 2025, many families here lost their homes, farmland and orchards to monsoon disasters. The moment it starts raining heavily, everyone fears history will repeat itself.”
Het Ram, a resident of Siraj Valley in Himachal Pradesh’s Mandi district, pauses before adding a detail that has quietly become part of everyday life. Most households in his village now keep their important documents, first-aid kits, clothes, dry food, drinking water, ropes and tarpaulin packed together in one corner of the house, ready to be carried at a moment’s notice if disaster strikes.
“Without our documents, we cannot even claim government compensation,” he says.
Why Himachal Pradesh Floods Continue to Haunt Survivors
Het Ram’s experience is shared by families across many villages in Himachal Pradesh, where the monsoon — once welcomed as a season of abundance — has increasingly become synonymous with fear. With the first spell of July rain comes an unspoken anxiety that settles over entire communities. People’s eyes remain fixed not on the clouds but on the fragile mountain slopes towering above their homes. A spell of intense rainfall is enough to keep families awake through the night. Fluctuating blood pressure, panic attacks, insomnia and chronic stress have gradually become a routine part of life in the state’s vulnerable mountain settlements.
Psychologists describe this condition as anticipatory anxiety — the distress that emerges not after a traumatic event but from the constant fear that it may happen again. A study of disaster survivors in Uttarakhand found that repeated exposure to natural disasters leaves people in a permanent state of hypervigilance: interrupted sleep, startling at the slightest sound, and feeling anxious the moment it begins to rain had become routine for many of those affected.
‘I fear the mountain above my home may collapse’
For 56-year-old Chudamani of Sarpada village in Rampur subdivision, July is no longer just another month — it is a season of dread.
Whenever it rains, sleep deserts her. She spends hours sitting outside her house, her eyes fixed on the hillside looming overhead. A single fear keeps returning: What if the mountain gives way? What if everything is gone within seconds?
The fear has haunted her ever since the devastating flash floods of July 2024, when a swollen Samej Khad swept away both her two-storey house and her vehicle.
“Nowhere feels safe anymore,” says her husband, Chatar Singh. “The moment the rains begin, fear settles into our minds. Every spell of heavy rain makes us wonder which family’s home will be destroyed next.”
The scale of destruction behind the anxiety
According to the Himachal Pradesh State Disaster Management Authority, 2,108 people lost their lives during the monsoon seasons between 2020 and 2025, while property worth thousands of crores of rupees was destroyed.
The 2023 monsoon alone claimed 404 lives, left 38 people missing and forced more than 50,000 people to abandon their homes. A total of 2,546 houses were completely destroyed and another 10,853 suffered partial damage. Overall losses crossed INR 12,000 crore.
On August 14, 2023, a landslide in Shimla city killed 20 people. The following year, a cloudburst in the Samej area of Shimla district triggered flash floods that washed away 32 houses and claimed 36 lives. These recurring disasters across Shimla, Mandi and Kullu districts have left behind more than physical and economic devastation — every monsoon now revives memories of loss, uncertainty and the fear of losing loved ones all over again.
‘Not even a needle found after floods’
Alok Kumar of Sarpada village in Rampur embodies the depth of this trauma.
His ancestral home in Samej village was completely washed away in the 2024 floods. His mother and eight tenants lost their lives in the disaster.
“The flood was so devastating that not even a needle remained from our 21-room house,” he recalls. “I still haven’t recovered from that tragedy. Every time I hear about floods or landslides, the entire scene flashes before my eyes. We live in the mountains, so there is always the fear that another disaster could strike at any time.”
He says disasters have become an annual reality.
“For the last three years, something has happened every monsoon. It has increased stress and anxiety among almost everyone in the village. Even the elderly say they have never witnessed anything like this before.”
Despite struggling emotionally, Alok has never sought professional help. Like many others in disaster-prone regions, he considers such distress an unavoidable part of life in the hills.
What doctors are seeing
Mental health professionals in Himachal Pradesh say the psychological toll of climate disasters is becoming more visible, even though systematic evidence from the state is still lacking.
Dr Dinesh Dutt, a psychiatrist at Indira Gandhi Medical College (IGMC), Shimla, says climate change is directly influencing people’s mental well-being.
“Climate has a direct impact on mental health. After monsoon disasters, many survivors continue to relive the traumatic event. Distressing thoughts, memories and images keep recurring in their minds. Clinically, we recognise these symptoms as anxiety and post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). We are seeing such cases in hospitals, and our assessments suggest that climate-related events are contributing to these psychological conditions. However, there is still no systematic research that conclusively establishes this link in Himachal Pradesh.”
He adds that the state currently lacks a comprehensive database documenting climate-related mental health cases.
The concerns raised by clinicians are echoed in scientific literature. A review published in Frontiers in Public Health (2025) found that sudden climate-related disasters such as floods, landslides and cyclones frequently lead to PTSD and acute anxiety, while repeated exposure to such events has been associated with depression, hopelessness and, in some cases, suicidal thoughts. Mental health experts believe a similar pattern is gradually emerging in the rural regions of Himachal Pradesh.
Children are carrying the burden too
The psychological impact of recurring disasters is becoming increasingly visible among children.
Mukta, a government schoolteacher in Rohru, says classroom behaviour has changed noticeably since the devastating monsoon of 2023.
“Children have become frightened of the rains. During heavy rainfall, some of them become unusually quiet. Since Rohru is an apple-growing region, many children also worry that their family’s orchards and livelihoods may be destroyed.”
Poonam’s ten-year-old daughter, who lives in Shimla, has also developed an intense fear of the monsoon. Their residential building was declared unsafe after a landslide last year, forcing the family to live with relatives for ten days.
“Since that incident, she has developed a deep sense of insecurity,” Poonam says. “Every time it starts raining, that fear returns.”
For teenagers, the consequences are often less visible but equally profound.
Ashish Dogra, a Class XII student from Ramnagar in Shimla, says the rainy season has transformed childhood routines.
“During the monsoon, no one goes out to play anymore. We stay indoors all day. We talk to friends on the phone, but after a while it becomes boring. Sometimes that isolation makes us irritable and angry.”
Psychologist Neelam Bali says children’s emotional responses are closely linked to the anxiety they observe within their own families.
“When children see their parents constantly worried, they internalise that stress. Most are unable to express their emotions openly, and over time the anxiety begins to show in their behaviour. It eventually affects their studies and overall school performance.”
She emphasises that parents need to encourage open conversations with children.
“Play is one of the most effective ways for children to cope with stress. If they remain cut off from outdoor activities for long periods, they are more likely to experience loneliness, irritability and anger.”
Dr Dutt adds that climate disasters affect children, adults and older people in different ways. “If survivors do not receive timely psychological first aid, the long-term health consequences can be significant.”
When landscapes become a source of grief
Natural disasters alter far more than homes, roads and livelihoods. They also transform people’s emotional relationship with the landscapes they have known all their lives.
When the mountains that once symbolised safety and belonging suddenly become a source of destruction, recovering emotionally is rarely easy.
Researchers describe this experience as solastalgia — the distress people feel when the environment they identify as home is damaged or transformed. Unlike nostalgia, which is a longing for a place left behind, solastalgia emerges while people remain in the very place they call home, watching it deteriorate around them. Over time, this distress can deepen into prolonged grief, anxiety and depression.
Shifting homes in search of safety
Discussions around migration from Himachal Pradesh’s hill districts have traditionally centred on employment, education and infrastructure. But a new driver is quietly emerging: the search for psychological security.
For some families, the fear of living in disaster-prone areas has become so overwhelming that they are abandoning ancestral homes for places they perceive to be safer.
Prabhat Chand, 47, a government school lecturer from Rampur, is one such resident. After the devastating floods in Samej, he decided to leave the area and build a new home nearly 17 kilometres away in Sarpada village.
“Most of the families affected by the disaster have moved elsewhere,” he says. “The flood was so destructive that the place no longer feels fit for habitation.”
Ruchi, who lives in Tutu on the outskirts of Shimla, also shifted to another rented house after repeated monsoon scares. Her previous home stood beside a seasonal stream, and every spell of heavy rainfall made her anxiety worse.
“Whenever I saw news reports of rain-related disasters, I became anxious. Watching the water level in the stream rise only intensified that fear,” she says.
Although she still worries during the monsoon, moving to a different neighbourhood has eased the constant panic she once experienced.
Mental health remains missing from disaster response
Himachal Pradesh has made significant progress in recognising the health risks posed by climate change. The state has adopted the State Action Plan on Climate Change and Human Health (2022–27) and established a Climate Change and Human Health Cell to strengthen public health preparedness.
The plan focuses on physical health, disease surveillance, healthcare infrastructure resilience, early warnings and logistics, but does not address mental health support or psychological care for disaster-affected populations.
While the Climate Change and Human Health Cell provides training to healthcare workers and Accredited Social Health Activists (ASHAs) on mental health and psychological first aid, experts say these efforts have yet to translate into meaningful support on the ground.
Dr Sanjay Pathak, former Director of the Himachal Pradesh Mental Health Authority, believes disaster management continues to prioritise physical rehabilitation over psychological recovery.
“Government responses after disasters understandably focus on relief and rehabilitation,” he says. “But very little attention is paid to what kind of psychological intervention survivors require. Unless mental health becomes an integral part of disaster response, people will continue to live with a persistent sense of insecurity.”
Dr Dutt points to another challenge: the severe shortage of trained mental health professionals.
“The frequency of disasters is increasing much faster than our capacity to provide psychological support. For now, community and family networks are helping people cope. But as those social structures weaken, the need for professional mental health services will become much greater.”
The policy gap extends beyond Himachal Pradesh. An analysis published by the Observer Research Foundation (ORF) notes that disaster management strategies in India remain largely centred on rescue operations, rehabilitation and rebuilding infrastructure, with mental health support yet to be systematically integrated into these frameworks. The analysis also found that psychological disorders following natural disasters are 40 per cent more common than physical injuries — underscoring the need to treat mental health as a core part of disaster preparedness and recovery.
What needs to change?
Both Dr Pathak and Dr Dutt agree that psychosocial care must become a standard part of emergency relief rather than an afterthought. They identify three immediate priorities: training schoolteachers to provide basic psychosocial support to children affected by disasters; strengthening the capacity of ASHA workers and frontline health personnel to identify and respond to psychological distress; and expanding access to counselling and mental health services in disaster-affected communities.
For a Himalayan state facing ever more frequent extreme weather, integrating mental health into disaster management is no longer simply a public health recommendation — it is a necessity.
As climate change continues to reshape the mountains, it is also reshaping the emotional landscape of the people who call them home. The landslides and floods may disappear once the rains recede, but for many survivors, the fear remains — returning every monsoon, long before the first cloudburst.
Raman Kant is a mentee at the Asian College of Journalism’s Climate Change Media Hub, supported by Interlink Academy, Germany.
Climate
Delhi’s Air Pollution: Climate Change Is Raising Risks for India’s Heritage
India’s heritage sites are facing growing environmental risks as air pollution, rising temperatures, changing rainfall and coastal exposure accelerate the deterioration of historic structures. From pollution-linked black crusts at Humayun’s Tomb to salt damage at Mahabalipuram’s Shore Temple, scientific studies show why climate and environmental monitoring are becoming increasingly important for heritage conservation.
Delhi’s air pollution is damaging more than the city’s air quality. It is also contributing to the slow deterioration of its built heritage. India’s historic monuments are facing an environmental threat that extends beyond age and neglect. Air pollution, extreme weather, changing rainfall, rising temperatures and coastal hazards are creating new challenges for conserving structures built under very different environmental conditions.
A new study of Humayun’s Tomb in Delhi provides a close look at one of these risks. Researchers from IIT Roorkee and IIT Kanpur found that air pollution is contributing to the formation of black crusts on the sandstone surfaces of the UNESCO World Heritage Site. The study found that these crusts contain gypsum, carbon-rich material and traces of metals associated with urban pollution.
The finding is significant because it shows how environmental conditions around a monument can gradually alter its materials. But Humayun’s Tomb is only one example of a wider conservation challenge.
Pollution Leaves a Chemical Mark
Researchers collected five black-crust samples from rain-sheltered rooftop locations at Humayun’s Tomb under the supervision of an Archaeological Survey of India conservator. Using techniques including XRF, XRD, FTIR, SEM-EDX, CHNS and ICP-MS, the researchers found gypsum to be the dominant mineral in the crust. They concluded that external sources of calcium, including airborne particles, react with sulphur compounds to produce gypsum on the sandstone.
The composition also contained indicators consistent with pollution from vehicles, road and soil dust, construction, biomass burning and industrial activity. Crust formation was stronger at locations exposed to wind but sheltered from rain, showing that both pollution and local exposure conditions influence deterioration.
The study does not establish that the black crust itself has caused structural failure of Humayun’s Tomb. Instead, it identifies a long-term material deterioration process and recommends preventive conservation, including scientifically established cleaning methods, site-specific testing of protective coatings, air-quality monitoring and atmospheric modelling.
The Taj Mahal Shows How Pollution Affects Heritage
Humayun’s Tomb is not the only Indian monument where air pollution has been studied as a conservation concern. A 2015 study in Environmental Science & Technology measured particulate pollution around the Taj Mahal over a year and found high levels of light-absorbing particles, including black carbon, brown carbon and dust. Experiments using marble surrogate surfaces showed that these carbon-rich particles contribute to surface discoloration.
However, this finding is specific to staining and surface change. It does not imply that air pollution alone explains all forms of deterioration at the Taj Mahal. Recognising pollution as a conservation issue, the Ministry of Culture reports that the Archaeological Survey of India operates air-pollution monitoring laboratories at the Taj Mahal and Bibi ka Maqbara.
Climate Conditions Monuments Face
Climate change presents a different, but overlapping, conservation problem. UNESCO identifies storms, cyclones and tidal surges as potential threats to the World Heritage property and notes that their frequency could increase as a result of climate change.
A major review of climate-change impacts on cultural heritage found that climate change can alter the frequency and intensity of processes that already damage historic materials. These include moisture-related deterioration, salt crystallisation, biological growth and erosion. The review stresses that the effects vary according to the material, location and local climate of each heritage site.
That makes it important not to treat climate change as a single threat to India’s monuments. A stone temple on the coast faces different risks from a sandstone monument in Delhi or a heritage structure in a flood-prone region.
Mahabalipuram: Salt and Sea Exposure
The Shore Temple at Mahabalipuram illustrates the vulnerability of coastal heritage. A study by researchers from ASI and the National Museum Institute examined the deterioration of the 7th–8th-century granite monument. Extensive salt-induced deterioration, particularly on sections directly exposed to the sea. Some sculptures on the seaward side had been eroded beyond recognition.
The study linked the deterioration to marine exposure, sea spray, soluble salts, high-velocity winds and the site’s tropical, humid conditions. The researchers also found that continuous sea spray makes some conventional stone-conservation approaches difficult to maintain.
The study does not establish that climate change caused the Shore Temple’s existing deterioration. It does, however, demonstrate how vulnerable coastal heritage can be to marine and climatic conditions; risks that become increasingly important as coastal environments change.
Importance of Preventive Conservation
India has already begun incorporating environmental monitoring into heritage conservation. The Ministry of Culture said in that ASI and ISRO have installed Automated Weather Stations at several historical monuments to track temperature, rainfall and wind. ASI also carries out periodic scientific treatment and conservation work at heritage sites.
But the evidence from Humayun’s Tomb shows that monitoring pollution and climate variables must be paired with material-level studies. The challenge is identifying the environmental drivers of deterioration and intervening early, before it becomes irreversible.
For Delhi, this means reducing pollutants that settle on historic stone. Coastal monuments must contend with salt, moisture and erosion, while high-rainfall regions require stronger drainage and structural resilience.
Climate
Climate-Resilient Agriculture Must Move From Policy to Practice
Climate-resilient agriculture is emerging as a key policy priority in India as experts call for water conservation, crop diversification, and technology-driven farming to tackle growing climate risks.
Climate-resilient agriculture is gaining policy attention in India as experts advocate water conservation, crop diversification, and digital technologies to help farmers adapt to increasing climate risks and strengthen long-term food security.
As climate change continues to threaten agricultural productivity through erratic rainfall, rising temperatures and increasing water stress, experts have called for stronger evidence-based policies and investments in climate-resilient farming to safeguard India’s food security and rural livelihoods.
The discussion took place at a workshop organised by the Nation First Policy Research and Change Foundation (NFPRC) for Members of Parliament and State Legislators in New Delhi, where policymakers, agricultural scientists and researchers examined strategies to strengthen climate resilience across India’s farming sector.
“Our focus must be on evidence-based policymaking, climate-resilient governance, crop diversification, water conservation, irrigation and insurance coverage to strengthen India’s agricultural resilience,” Tarun Chugh, Member of Rajya Sabha and Chairperson of the NFPRC Foundation, said while inaugurating the workshop.
During a technical session, Praveen Kumar Singh, Agriculture Commissioner at the Ministry of Agriculture and Farmers Welfare, and Rajbir Singh, Deputy Director General at the Indian Council of Agricultural Research (ICAR), emphasised that adapting Indian agriculture will require region-specific crop diversification, wider adoption of millets, pulses, oilseeds and horticultural crops, along with investments in watershed development, rainwater harvesting, groundwater recharge and micro-irrigation.
Experts also highlighted the growing role of emerging technologies, including artificial intelligence, drones, Internet of Things (IoT) devices and digital supply chains, in improving weather forecasting, precision farming, irrigation management and crop insurance delivery. Speaking on agricultural innovation, Ramesh Chand, Distinguished Professor at the Indian Council for Research on International Economic Relations (ICRIER) and former Member of NITI Aayog, said technology, finance and governance must work together to build a more resilient agricultural system.
The workshop concluded with a call for closer collaboration between policymakers, scientific institutions and farming communities, underscoring that climate resilience will depend not only on technological innovation but also on translating research-backed policies into effective action at the farm level.
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