An aerial view shows a flooded locality following heavy rainfall in Bengaluru, May 19, 2025. (Photo: AFP)
On 19 May 2025, Bengaluru received 130 mm of rain in less than 12 hours, flooding its roads, homes and office parks. Tech corridors turned into tributaries. Schoolchildren were stranded in buses. Office workers abandoned their cars and waded home. At least five people died. Over 500 homes flooded.
Since 2021, when rainfall exceeded 1,500 mm—well above the city’s long-term average of 986 mm—Bengaluru has faced increasingly intense downpours. In 2022, the city recorded more than 1,450 mm of rain, submerging homes and software campuses. In 2024, it rained 186 mm in a single October day—the highest in 27 years. The city’s stormwater drains remained unequal to the task.
The government has responded with statistics and promises. ₹2,000 crore has been allocated to build and reinforce drains; 197 km of stormwater infrastructure has been laid; 210 flood-prone zones have been mapped—though only 166 have reportedly been “resolved”. Deputy Chief Minister DK Shivakumar has said the remaining areas will be fixed “soon”. But soon is never before the rain.
Bengaluru was once a city of tanks and interlinked lakes, an ecological marvel of decentralised water management. Many of these tanks have been encroached upon or degraded, if not entirely replaced by apartment blocks. The rajakaluves—ancient canals meant to carry excess rainwater—now exist mostly in fragments: narrowed, blocked or built over.
According to the BBMP’s own estimates, nearly 800 km of stormwater drains are either missing or dysfunctional. It’s not that the rain is unprecedented—it’s that the city can no longer absorb it. Concrete has replaced open earth. Layouts have come up on former lakebeds. Each new building deflects rain rather than absorb it, accelerating runoff into already overburdened drains.
In 2022, posh gated communities like Yemalur and Bellandur went underwater, bringing the crisis to the doorsteps of the IT elite. Some housing societies reported water up to chest level. Diesel generators failed. Rescue operations had to be arranged for stranded residents. Meanwhile, in working-class pockets of Bommanahalli and KR Puram, families swept out sludge as they have for years.
Climate change is often cited as the culprit. But rainfall data alone cannot account for the depth of dysfunction. Infrastructure gaps, planning failures and weak enforcement play a greater role. In the latest flood, even recent mitigation measures faltered. A desilted canal overflowed. Pumping stations failed. Traffic advisories came after the gridlocks had formed. Schools received no instructions.
Some of this inaction is due to the fact that responsibility is diffuse. BBMP handles roads and drains. BWSSB controls sewerage. BDA manages planning. The Revenue Department oversees disaster response. No single authority sees the whole system. Each year, emergency funds are released, short-term fixes made, and committees formed, until the skies clear and memory fades. And so, with every monsoon, the water returns.
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