In the Himalayas, landslides have stopped being rare accidents. They are becoming routine, almost predictable. Himachal Pradesh saw more than 400 deaths in July–August 2023 alone, triggered by torrential rains and worsened by reckless slope-cutting for roads and buildings. Uttarakhand has been on the same path. By 2025, nearly 65 per cent of monsoon days featured extreme weather events almost double the proportion in 2022, according to data from the state’s emergency operation centre. Flash floods and landslides in Uttarkashi this season killed at least 48 people, while more than 100 remain missing.
A report by the Centre for Science and Environment makes it clear that from 2013 to 2022, the Himalayan region bore the brunt of disasters: 44 per cent of all such events in India happened here. The mountains suffered 192 floods, landslides, and thunderstorms during that period.
Numbers alone can overwhelm, but they matter. As per official records, 1,297 people died due to flash floods up to July 2025, already surpassing the death toll of 2024 (1,287) and far above 2023 (862). In August 2025, more than 100 lives were lost in flash floods across Uttarakhand and Jammu and Kashmir. Himachal Pradesh, battered during this monsoon, recorded ₹1,59,981 lakh in losses by early August.
The trend is brutal. Uttarakhand has already seen over 30 per cent rise in disaster-related casualties this year, making 2025 the deadliest in recent years.
Scientists are not mincing words anymore. The Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change has warned that the Himalayan region is heating faster than the rest of India. While the national average temperature rise is 1.5°C, the Himalayas have already seen 2.5°C of warming. Ice has melted at shocking rates 40 per cent of glaciers gone, with projections that up to 75 per cent could disappear by the end of this century.
The consequences trickle down into everything. Snow cover shrank by 50 per cent in just one year, from January 2023 to January 2024. Cloudbursts in 2022 and 2023 were not isolated freak events but precursors to a much more violent future, as per CSE analysis. And this matters for daily survival: around 90 per cent of Himalayan agriculture is rain-fed.
Blame cannot be shifted entirely onto climate change. Human activity has turned fragile slopes into death traps. The Char Dham highway project is the most glaring example. A peer-reviewed study in Geotechnical and Geological Engineering tracked 800 km of pilgrimage routes and identified 811 landslides, with 81 per cent of them occurring within 100 metres of the highway. Slopes were cut at angles steeper than 80°, way beyond safe engineering limits. The result? Over 55,000 trees felled, 690 hectares of forest lost, and nearly 20 million cubic metres of soil displaced. In short, the highway itself is destabilising the very mountains it passes through.
Then there is Joshimath, Uttarakhand’s sinking town. Remote sensing studies using Sentinel-1 satellite data show subsidence rates of up to 94 mm per year between 2022 and 2023. Cracks have appeared in more than 868 houses and civil structures. Researchers traced the causes: rapid urbanisation that doubled buildings between 2006 and 2023, blocked drainage channels that reduced natural “nalas” from nine to five, and unchecked hotel construction. Combine this with erosion along the Alaknanda riverbank, and the town is literally sliding away.
Tourism, ironically the lifeline of Himachal Pradesh, has become another threat. The state earns about 7 per cent of its GDP from tourism, but the explosion of hotels, resorts, and homestays has wiped out forests in Kangra, Dharamsala, McLeodganj, and Bir Billing. The infrastructure cannot keep up. Water shortages plague towns every summer. Waste piles up, traffic clogs narrow roads, and local communities find their agricultural lands disappearing as more families shift to tourism-related businesses.
The warning signs are clear. Towns like Joshimath show how quickly a once-thriving settlement can become unlivable. Subsidence, landslides, water scarcity, and infrastructure collapse are pushing families to migrate. Himachal’s repeated floods and slope failures are destroying homes and roads, forcing people into temporary shelters.
Habitability isn’t just about surviving the next landslide; it’s about whether people can see a future here. If agriculture fails due to vanishing snow and erratic rainfall, if drinking water runs out each summer, if every monsoon season wipes away roads and bridges, then the question becomes: who will stay?
Policies exist, at least on paper. The National Disaster Management Authority has guidelines on landslide mitigation, slope management, and early warning. Himachal Pradesh High Court has repeatedly cracked down on illegal hotel construction. But enforcement remains patchy, almost symbolic.
There are solutions out there. Japan uses advanced slope-stabilising technologies and real-time early-warning systems. Switzerland enforces strict hazard zoning before any construction in alpine areas. Nepal has pioneered community-led disaster management projects in its rural, landslide-prone hills.
Even within India, research is opening new doors. Studies in Civil Engineering Journal (2022) and Scientific Reports (2024) are using satellite imagery and machine learning to map landslide hotspots with high accuracy. Engineers recommend slope-stabilisation measures such as grouted tiebacks anchors drilled into rock to hold unstable slopes in place.
The Himalayan states are standing at a dangerous threshold. Climate change has stacked the odds against them, but reckless construction and weak regulation are making the collapse faster and deadlier. Himachal and Uttarakhand cannot afford to gamble on short-term development at the cost of long-term survival.
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