Climate’s sizzling frontier: Northeast heats up, must plan with nature

After spending almost a year in Bengaluru, I landed in my hometown Guwahati a few weeks ago. As my parents drove me back home, along with the quiet pleasures of being in the familiar, the heat made its presence felt too. It hung heavy, making the air slower, denser. I craved the cool breeze of my memories. Between airport hugs and home, it hit me: Guwahati had changed, the skyline held more construction than ever, it was hotter and the air felt heavier, harsher.

Across cities and towns in the Northeast, this is apparently a leitmotif. As Suwarna P. Nepal, 27, says, “Over the past few years, Gangtok has become warmer. There’s still a difference between day and night temperatures but the overall rise is quite apparent.” Gangtok, located on a hill, has varying altitudes. Itanagar too is hotter. “The change is obvious. When I was younger, it would rarely touch 30 degrees Celsius but it’s usually 31-35 degrees Celsius now,” says Leyi Lego, 22. She recalls the strange phenomenon that around 85,000 residents saw two-three years ago – snowfall. “We were really shocked,” she adds. 

Guwahati, Gangtok and Itanagar are strands of the larger story in the Northeast: Higher temperatures, hotter summers with warmer nights, and weird weather events far from the pleasant climate they were known for. May 2024 saw one of the hottest heat spells in decades. Guwahati and Itanagar hit 40.1 and 39.2 degrees Celsius respectively while hill stations Shillong and Kohima touched 28.9 degrees Celsius. What stood out was the unusually high night temperatures—Guwahati’s minimum was around 27 degrees Celsius, narrowing the diurnal gap to just 13 degrees Celsius, while Shillong was at 17–18 degrees Celsius as against the typical 14–16 degrees Celsius.

Even as the record-breaking temperatures in the rest of India grab headlines, cities and towns here that are heating up, even during nights, rarely get the attention. Not only are these places dealing with unfamiliar climate but their lifestyles and social practices, including building materials and daily rhythms, are not geared to withstand and combat such highs. 

Why is the NE heating
Over the past decade, towns across Northeast India have experienced a noticeable rise in both daytime and night temperatures. Guwahati’s daytime high soared from about 38.0 degrees Celsius in May 2015 to around 40.1 degrees Celsius ten years later. Shillong’s maximum temperature went from about 26.0 degrees Celsius in May 2015 to nearly 28.9 degrees Celsius this year. Itanagar’s highs went from 36.0 to 39.2 degrees Celsius over the decade, Kohima climbed from around 25.0 to 28.0 degrees Celsius, and Imphal from about 34.0 to 36.5 degrees Celsius. Aizawl and Agartala show the same trend too. 

This upward shift of temperatures signaled a region-wide thermal change driven by urbanisation and climate change, stated this study.^[1] “The diurnal temperature range is decreasing in most stations across northeast India especially during the pre-monsoon and monsoon seasons,” noted a 2011 study by Jhajharia and Singh.^[2] This diurnal gap is important at nights, when temperature drops to cool down the atmosphere and the body recovers. With hotter nights, life is a challenge.

Across the Northeast, urban expansion has picked up pace but largely without a sound nature-based plan. In places like Itanagar, Shillong, and Kohima, the rush to build more has led to the cutting of hills and shrinking wetlands. Experts point out that the master plans rarely match what’s happening on the ground, “leaving local ecosystems strained and residents vulnerable to floods and landslides.”^[3]. And to heat too. 

While India’s large cities are rolling out or implementing Heat Action Plans, the cities and towns here lag. Policymakers have called for action. Mridusmita Borah, Project Officer, Disaster Risk Reduction, Assam State Disaster Management Authority argued for tailored policies and resource allocation to address heat waves…“without inclusion in national heat adaptation strategies, these towns risk (are) facing the brunt of climate-induced heat without adequate support.”^[4]

Importantly, urbanisation has meant that traditional ecological practices like community forest management and water-sharing customs are disappearing.^[5] And this has shifted how we manage heat now.

How are people coping?
Speaking to people, a pattern emerges: Air conditioners have become ubiquitous though they contribute to global warming. In Aizawl, Dr. Lalremruati Hmar, 53, and others speak of how December feels like hot October and it rains randomly in March-April. Shillong-based Krittika Bhuiya, 29, recalls that fans were once not needed but “now people use air conditioners”. The shift from Assam-type houses made of timber and bamboo, designed for ventilation and climate resilience, to heat-trapping cement concrete buildings are partly responsible, she says. Hirak Jyoti Sharma, 29, remembers, “When we were in school, we never used to sweat.”

In Kohima, Theja Keretsu, 25, observes warmer nights and changing land-use: “Some forests are privately owned and people clear them to grow cash crops.” Donald Takhell, 26, in Imphal sees changing behaviour. “When we used to return from Delhi, our mom scolded us for drinking cold water. Now, she keeps bottles in the fridge.” An independent writer and researcher, he highlights microclimatic shifts, deforestation, and rising energy use, and points to Assam and Manipur as India’s most climate-vulnerable states in the vulnerability index by the Council on Energy, Environment and Water.^[6] 

Heat is reshaping the way we live. I remember my grandparents’ home on the ground floor. It rarely needed fans even during summers as it was shaded from direct sunlight, and the stone floors radiated a coolness. As Guwahati expanded and rental arrangements changed, they moved to a second-floor apartment. This traps heat, afternoons take a toll on them. That they feel the need for an air conditioner shows the shift. 

There’s another shift. Unlike my generation, I hardly see children playing outdoors now; they are indoors, glued to their electronic devices. Parents too hesitate to send them out, concerned about the health risks from high heat. People I know have changed their daily routines to stay out of the harsh sun, or those who avoided drinking cold water have reluctantly taken to it like my parents did.

‘We were never built for this heat’
These shifts reflect more than mere discomfort; they show changes people have made in daily lives in the absence of sufficient institutional action. Kohima, Shillong, Itanagar and other towns lack not only everyday cultural practices but also the infrastructure to cope with high temperatures, explains Dr. Chandni Singh, Lead Researcher at the Indian Institute for Human Settlements. “The heat in these towns is catching communities off guard. They were never culturally or infrastructurally built for heat,” she says. 

Dr. Singh has reviewed Heat Action Plans from across India but there have been none from the Northeast. The absence of comprehensive Heat Action Plans, inadequate health centres, and insufficient policy support underscores the urgent need for systematic planning and implementation here. A research co-authored by Dr. Chandni Singh found that extreme heat disproportionately impacts socially and economically vulnerable communities in India’s cities, intensifying existing inequalities and demanding urgent, inclusive adaptation planning.^[7]

Air conditioners, once a luxury and extravagance here, are becoming a necessity. While people can aspire to modern living such as air conditioners, it has to be accompanied by the recognition of the risks. “It’s ethically problematic to blame these towns for climate change but they must consider a climate-resilient future,” points out Dr. Singh. 

Climate-conscious development
The lush forests, enviable elevation, and water courses were natural regulators of temperature in the cities and towns of the NE but they have been diminished by rapid construction and road widening.^[8]  While the emphasis is on building infrastructure, the response to heat or floods remains fragmented or absent. 

Long-time residents echo experts in calling for climate-conscious development where deforestation limits and climate protection are embedded in planning itself – or these will have the construction but become unlivable. As Mridusmita Borah wrote, “The fight against heat waves in Northeast India is about adapting to a changing climate… by enacting proactive region-specific policies, investing in resilient infrastructure, and empowering our communities.” 

Urmi Buragohain, Guwahati-based urban planner, architect, social entrepreneur and policymaker in the region, says people are spending time indoors and rely on artificial cooling. “The community knows what’s happening, they see the trees disappearing, water bodies drying up…There isn’t a single Heat Action Plan for any city here. Local authorities are still grappling with drainage, water supply, and solid waste and climate-specific planning is seen as an ‘extra,’ not an essential.”

Beyond policy, Buragohain points to the gap between research and public understanding. “People feel hotter summers, waterlogging, vanishing wetlands but they don’t realise how their decisions feed into these,” she says. Their choices like paving entire plots without leaving open spaces, randomly cutting down trees, destroying wetlands for ‘development’ are exacerbating both heat and flooding; the connection between the erasure of natural systems like wetlands and rising heat need to be recognised. She suggests a massive shift in awareness. “We talk about turning Guwahati into a ‘sponge city’ but it used to be one, we destroyed the original sponge.”

Arshel Akhter, an advocate for sustainable urban transportation, climate action and active mobility, and co-founder of Purvca Foundation, says, “When the temperature shows 39 degrees Celsius, it feels like 45 because humidity doesn’t let the body cool.” He points to the familiar culprits: Massive loss of tree cover, increasing concrete surfaces, expansion of wide, heat-trapping roads, pollution especially from private vehicles. “Earlier, large green patches helped cool the city naturally. Now with everything paved over, the city can’t breathe anymore.”

Akhter points to a structural gap with policymakers living cushioned lives in air-conditioned homes and offices, cut off from the worsening environmental conditions that masses face. “The idea of development here is still about building more without thinking about the ecological costs…As long as economic growth remains the only focus and the environment is treated as an afterthought, real climate resilience will stay out of reach,” he points out. 

A cooler future
Although Assam has started working on a State Cooling Action Plan, its impact will take time to materialise. The policy and planning gaps are a call to action the first of which, experts suggest, is to move beyond fragmented and reactionary approaches towards systematic, nature-based planning. What does that look like in practice? 

First, the cities and towns in the Northeast must be included in national heat governance frameworks and not seen as peripheral to India’s climate conversations. We need more attention on how climate events, especially heat, are playing out here if we are to access climate finance; else, our cities and towns will fall through the cracks. Secondly, Heat Action Plans that go beyond metropolitan models are essential. These must integrate heat thresholds specific to the region’s topography, housing forms, and public health capacity. 

Thirdly, nature-based planning must be at the core of development and construction. This means protecting forests, preserving wetlands, expanding green public spaces, and rethinking road-widening or hill-cutting projects that contribute to the heat islands. Fourthly, there has to be comprehensive mapping and protection of water bodies and forest areas. Lastly, the heat preparedness in communities has to support indigenous lifestyles and daily practices. 

As we drove home, my father Manorom Gogoi said, “Development isn’t the enemy, shortsightedness is.” Journalist, activist and entrepreneur, at 56, he knows Guwahati from the four decades spent here. Crossing Deepor Beel, he remembers a time when it stretched wide, when paddy fields held Guwahati together, when trees outnumbered concrete structures. He is not against growth but, like many here, speaks of a growth that remembers the rivers, the trees, the sky and the people. 

The city he loved, the city I grew up in, the city I inherited — all feel different. Yet, I see the urgency to do something, to imagine a future where the concrete does not drown out the river and land. Guwahati is not alone. From Shillong’s hills to Aizawl’s ridges to Imphal’s valleys, the story is the same: Places once shaped by breeze and green are now negotiating heat. The solutions lie here too. I remember Dr Singh’s words that these towns were never built for heat but the heat is here anyway. Our future has to be crafted keeping in mind these landscapes, histories, people and vulnerabilities. 

Sugandhi Prapti, based in Guwahati, is a Sociology graduate from Lady Shri Ram College for Women with a minor in Journalism, currently interning with Question of Cities through the Indian Institute for Human Settlements. As an Urban Fellow at IIHS, her research interest lies on urban vulnerability, marginalized communities, and ecological challenges. With a strong passion for ethnographic research,visual media and storytelling, she aspires to explore the intersections of urban development, social inequality and environmental issues, particularly in the context of Northeast India.

Cover Photo: Wikimedia Commons