Why the searing Delhi heat is giving me visions of apocalypse
Hell was always a hot place.
An inferno, a patal, a place that blisters your skin, and sucks the juices from your soul. In ancient mythologies, hell burns; in Tolkein’s The Lord of the Rings, the Burning Eye of Mordor and the lava-laced cracks of doom seem to embody a private, searing hell.
North India in June feels like raw anger, hellishly irate, burning in its own mythology and hot indignation. The heat, and human intent, caused forest fires to rage over the hills of Uttarakhand last year and this year. And early June over North India has clocked temperatures higher than 47 degrees. Noses bleed, stomachs get upset, skin breaks out into inflamed rashes, and people die. In what was still spring time, in March 2017, four people lost their lives in Maharashtra due to the heat.
In another country, across the Atlantic ocean, Donald Trump, a man who has possibly never experienced climate excesses, has selfishly declared that the US will no longer be part of the Paris Climate Accord, which committed countries to arrest global warming. Trump doesn’t feel there is immediate and present danger, though temperatures are breaking all thresholds and glaciers are melting. Maybe he feels he has enough airconditioning to prevent getting hot and sick; or maybe he feels most of his life is behind him and climate change is just not his generation’s problem.
Meanwhile, as the earth heats up, cities have their very own, exacerbated and extreme problem. Heat islands.
As one walks the streets of Delhi, desert-like mirages seem to appear. Is that a panting dog hiding under a car, or could those be the eyes of a skeleton? The tar on the road shimmers, and tired trees girding the road seem to want to withdraw their roots and lumber off to cooler climes. The pollution in Delhi mingles with the heat, delivering a haze that is an industrial orange.
Pollution and carbon dioxide that traps heat delivers temperatures that could be up to four to ten degrees more than surrounding areas. The heat island is caused by this warmed state as well as a more local problem — the lack of vegetation and too many concretised spaces. In Delhi, the patterns of heat islands are clear.
Connaught Place, full of cars and few trees, is very hot. Majnu ka Tila, close to the river Yamuna, is cooler. Buddha Jayanti Park and Vasant Kunj, fortified with greenery and close to forests, are way cooler than CP. Heat islands are not just causing local temperature rise, but could also be responsible for reducing the difference between night-time and daytime temperatures. Nights in Delhi — once known for cool evening breezes, where many would languidly lie under the stars on slack beds on terraces, are getting hotter.
When we talk about climate change and global warming we usually focus on the big things — glacier melt, sea-level rise; leading to policy change in terms of moving away from coal for energy and investing in renewable sources of power. Prime Minister Narendra Modi is going through with a massive solar power mission, initiated by his predecessor. However, climate change action often ignores micro-climate and the immediate local surroundings.
In Delhi, areas around the Ridge, Sanjay Van, city forests like Jahanpanah and the river Yamuna are cooler than other places. Essentially, trees, natural areas, parks and urban wilderness regulate micro-climate and prevent the whole city from turning into one 1,400square-kilometre inferno.
Essentially, we can’t make do without trees. We make our buildings and fit ACs in every available hole or space in the wall. A modern building, however elegant it may be, is marred by the sight of AC vents, looking like crazed, bulging eyes in the heat. We cool our bathrooms, our cars, our windows, verandahs. But clearly we are failing at cooling the planet or keeping it at an equilibrium. To make the issue far more immediate, we are failing at keeping our immediate spaces cool — colony roads, street avenues, space between two parks, space between two malls, space between two houses. While the buildings of the more fortunate are artificially cooled, the walk to a car or mode of transport is a taste of what it is really like outside. The heat is like a solid and unflinching wall. Power cuts are a leveller, bringing everyone down to the same, gasping level.
So, what can be done? India has announced that it will switch to electric cars by 2030, something lauded even in climate-unfriendly USA. That should bring down the car emissions — a major cause of urban heat. However, there are still other point and non-point sources of pollution that the city produces — airconditioning vents, industrialisation, thermal power plants et al. What could counter these anthropogenic and widespread impacts? An easy answer is trees.
There was a time that planting trees was a desirable, favourable activity. Trees were gentle horticulture; ficus trees were grown for their height and vigour, Ashoka trees for their stiff-backed straightness, Gulmohars for their colourful flowers, and frangipani trees for their fragrant appeal.
That time of a gentle pursuit is behind us. We need trees to survive, and counter the steaming heat islands we have created; a quicksand that is taking lives, causing sickness, sapping energies and creating more energy use. While we focus on the big issues of climate change, we cannot afford to forget that micro-climate regulators are trees and wilderness, and we need both with a searing desperation our generations have not seen before.
Jamun trees cool massive areas. Banyan trees act as refuge from the direct, giddying sunshine. Mango trees are an excellent source of shade and habitat for many creatures. Trees bring down local temperatures, and trees bring rain. Nothing can do this better than mature trees.
Still, we are deliberately losing our trees and the collective canopies above our heads. Cities want to become smarter and have no patience for an old tree. Even as the urgency to have trees counter heat islands rises, trees are being chopped down. Bangalore wants to cut down more than 2,000 trees for its Steel flyover, and Mumbai has a plan for felling over 6,000 trees for a Metro as well as Metro Yard.
Delhi routinely cuts or shears trees for road-widening. Those who oppose these plans are seen as fanatical or old-fashioned. The thing is, as we dab our brows, crank up our ACs, put aside serious funds for cooling, and wind into exhaustion from hot day to hot night, there is nothing old-fashioned about trees anymore.
The heat of the moment declares that we need to go on massive tree plantation and tree preservation drives in our cities. These trees would be a feathery, leafy, florid apology for the carbon we have spewed into their air. Our air. As heat islands grow hotter, the trees don’t need us. We need them. Hell is a hot place, and trees our redemption.