
Extreme heat is no longer seen as an outlier. It has become the background condition of urban life around the world. From Southern Europe to the American Southwest, from West Asia to South Asia, cities are entering a new climatic phase in which heat is structural rather than episodic. By 2026, the global heat crisis will have rewritten how cities run, who they exclude, and who bears the cost of survival. Nowhere is this transition more visible—or more significant—than in India's constantly developing urban landscape.
What separates the current situation is not simply recording temperatures, but the normalization of heat as an everyday concern. Cities such as Madrid, Rome, and Phoenix are restructuring streets, work hours, and public places to accommodate extended heat exposure. However, India's cities, where heat meets population, informality, and inequality, face a far more complex situation. The global heat crisis may be transnational, but its consequences are deeply unequal.
Heatwaves are extending their duration, coming sooner, and exceeding physiological thresholds across continents. Scientists now emphasize that humidity mixed with temperature—often evaluated using wet-bulb conditions—poses the greatest threat to human life. This transition is critical for Indian cities, where humidity, overpopulation, and insufficient housing coexist.
While news stories from around the world often talk about record high temperatures, India's urban heat challenge is mostly about exposure. Delhi, Ahmedabad, Chennai, and Nagpur are all cities that are getting hot. It's not just on weather maps; it's also on construction sites, in informal settlements, and in homes that don't have good ventilation. For millions of people, getting away from the heat is more about how much it costs than how to adapt.
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In this way, global warming makes the differences between cities even worse. In Indian cities where air conditioning is a luxury, water supply is limited, and public infrastructure is overburdened, the same temperatures that cause health warnings in Europe can be deadly.
One of the things that makes the heat crisis stand out is the urban heat island effect, which makes cities much hotter than the surrounding countryside. Concrete, asphalt, glass facades, and low green cover keep heat in during the day and slowly let it out at night, taking away the relief cities used to have.
In India, this effect is exacerbated by planning models that prioritize speed and scale over climate sensitivity. Flyovers replace tree-lined streets, high-rises replace low-density homes, and footpaths disappear beneath parked cars. What emerges is a city built for mobility and real estate value, not thermal comfort.
Nighttime heat is very harmful. As global studies have shown, rising minimum temperatures impair the body's ability to recover from daily exposure. In Indian cities, where nighttime labor, informal vending, and overcrowded housing are ubiquitous, this produces a quiet public health emergency that is rarely recognized by official catastrophe frameworks.
The effect of high heat on work is probably the most overlooked part of it. Cities all over the world are starting to realize how heat affects productivity. The effects are even worse in India. Construction workers, delivery people, street vendors, sanitation workers, and factory workers are the backbone of city economies, but they are also the most at risk. Unlike cities in the global North, which can impose work-hour restrictions and interior cooling requirements, India's informal sector does not provide such safeguards. Heat becomes an occupational hazard in this setting without remuneration. Lost workdays result in lost revenue, continuing the cycle of vulnerability.
The worldwide debate on heat is increasingly framing it as an economic issue. For India, it is an economic certainty—one that affects urban livelihoods before threatening infrastructure.
India is often praised around the world for being one of the first countries to use Heat Action Plans (HAPs). Ahmedabad was the first city to use them, and then they were used in other cities as well. These plans, which focus on early warnings, raising public awareness, and responding to emergencies, are a big step forward. India has improved its forecasting and alert systems to be in line with the best practices in the world.
But it's becoming clearer what HAPs can't do. A lot of people still react instead of staying away. They depend on advisory documents instead of rules that must be followed. Most importantly, they don't talk about urban architecture, which is the main cause of heat entrapment. Cities around the world are experimenting with structural solutions like reflective surfaces, urban woods, shaded transit corridors, and cooling centers that are integrated into public life. Instead of importing models wholesale, India faces the problem of adapting these ideas to urban, informal, and resource-constrained situations.
Extreme heat reveals a fundamental fact about climate change: it is a governance concern as much as an environmental one. In Indian cities, who overheats and who cools off follows typical social patterns. Gated neighborhoods hide behind electricity generators and air conditioners. Tin roofs, intermittent water supplies, and no insulation are common features of informal communities. This reflects global patterns, but with sharper edges. Heat becomes a form of everyday violence: gradual, cumulative, and structurally imposed. Unlike floods and cyclones, heat has no dramatic aftermath. Its casualties are spread across hospitals, resulting in missed income and shorter lifespans.
As the world discusses climate financing and adaptation funds, India's cities demonstrate why adaptation should be local, granular, and justice-oriented. Cooling is not a luxury technology; it is basic infrastructure.
The worldwide heat epidemic is prompting a rethinking of what a livable city is. For India, this redefining cannot wait for future master plans or international assurances. It must begin with urgent interventions such as worker protection, street planning for shade, urban water body restoration, and regulation of heat-intensive construction methods.
Heat may not respect boundaries, but policy failure is always local. As global temperatures rise, India's cities will either become laboratories of climate resilience, or cautionary tales of governance falling behind science. Finally, the question isn't if Indian cities can handle high heat. They already do. The real question is who lives well and who pays the price. That answer holds the future of cities in India as the world gets warmer.