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    South Asia
     May 24, 2006
India's rite of summer: Death from the heat
By Sudha Ramachandran

BANGALORE - It's a familiar story that unfolds across the Indian subcontinent every summer: soaring temperatures, power outages, water shortages, frayed tempers and protests. And a mounting death toll, often blamed on the heat wave. This year has been no different; so far, summer has been a scorcher in India, Pakistan and Bangladesh.

Temperatures touched new highs across India. Ganganagar, in the western state of Rajasthan, which borders Pakistan, recorded the highest temperature this season - 48 degrees Celsius. The mercury touched 44.5 degrees in Delhi, 5 degrees above normal. While the plains sizzled at 46 degrees, the hill stations have also



suffered. Shimla, which nestles in the Himalayas and is a major draw for tourists escaping the heat and dust of the plains, has seen temperatures touch 29 this year, 7 degrees above normal for this season.

Since April, some 50 people have died in the searing heat wave, most of them (25) in the northern state of Uttar Pradesh. While showers in northern India have given some respite, the heat wave has moved to the Telengana region of the southern state of Andhra Pradesh. More than 140 people have died in the heat wave in Pakistan's Punjab province, with temperatures there hovering around 49. The temperature in cities such as Multan and Jacobabad has touched 52 (nearly 126 on the old Fahrenheit scale) this year.

In India, the death toll from the heat wave this year is lower than in previous years. In May 1998, more than 2,000 people died in the eastern state of Orissa alone because of a severe heat wave. In 2002, some 1,030 people were killed in a single week. In 2003, the toll was 2,300. The heat wave and "Nature's Fury" are blamed for the death and discomfort. But far hotter places, such as El Azizia in Libya, where temperatures are known to shoot over 60, do not report a similar large-scale death toll.

So why does India suffer this annual ritual of discomfort and death every summer? The answer lies in poor infrastructure. It is not the heat wave per se that is killing people, but poverty, poor infrastructure and an unresponsive government machinery. People are dying because they lack the means to protect themselves from the searing heat. Most of those who die of sunstroke during India's scorching summers are the poor. Eighty percent of the victims are from families that fall below the poverty line. Many of them are homeless; a majority daily wage-earners.

When the death toll following the heat wave begins to mount, ministers and officials issue directives advising people to stay indoors and drink plenty of water. Sensible advice, it seems. But this is advice that many Indians are unable to follow - millions in this country do not have a roof over their head. Or they cannot afford the luxury of staying indoors to escape the heat for even a day, as that would mean loss of wages. Most of those who die of sunstroke are construction workers, agricultural laborers and rickshaw-pullers. Hence poverty is the underlying reason for their deaths; the heat wave is only the immediate cause.

If taking shelter from the heat is impossible for the homeless, drinking water to prevent dehydration is beyond the reach of many Indians, and increasingly, switching on fans and air-conditioners to cool off is restricted to a few hours in the cities.

For more than a month, Delhi has been struggling to cope with a severe power and water crisis. Middle-class neighborhoods are reeling under scheduled power cuts of about four hours a day and random power failures that sometimes run into another five to six hours. While the better-off can still hope for some relief by switching on generators to run their air-conditioners, most Delhiites have been left with no option but to suffer the sweltering heat. The situation with regard to water is no better. In several areas, water trickles from taps sometimes for only a few hours, and often for about 45 minutes and in the middle of the night. Most Delhiites wait in lines for hours for water that arrives in tankers.

The response of civic authorities in Delhi to the power crisis has been simply to crack down on demand by ordering offices to switch off their air-conditioners by 6:30pm and shops to down their shutters by 7:30pm. The government announced that industrial areas would go without power between 6:30pm and midnight. When protests broke out, the government backtracked. It was only a suggestion to deal with the crisis, officials explained.
Officials like to blame the annual power crisis in Delhi and other cities on the sharp spurt in consumer demand for electricity during the long summer months. There is some truth to their allegations. The demand for electricity has skyrocketed as more and more Indians turn to air-conditioners and fans to beat the heat. But everyone knows that the reasons for the power crisis are really about inadequate supply, inadequate power generation, transmission losses and power thefts.

Officials point out that generating capacity has grown manifold, from 1,362 megawatts in 1947 to 123,014MW in 2005. The most significant increase was in the 1995-2004 period, when more than 20,000MW of capacity was installed. But even these additions are not enough to meet the demands of a growing population. In the past 10 years, demand for power has increased by 12%, whereas power generation has increased by just 5.5%. Northern India faces a total shortfall of 6,000-7,000MW. Delhi loses more than 40% of its electricity to theft.

This is the scenario in relatively privileged, pampered Delhi. The situation in other parts of the country is far worse. In small towns and rural India, people are having to make do with about two hours of electricity a day. In Maharashtra, India's most industrialized state, the power crisis is worrying. In what was once a power-surplus state, rural areas now suffer 12-14 hours of power cuts every day. Industrial hubs such as Nagpur, Pune and Nashik face power cuts of four to six hours every day, seriously impacting on the functioning of small-scale industries.

India has big ambitions to become a significant global player. For such cities as Delhi, Mumbai and Bangalore, which are striving to project an image of world-class standards, the decrepit state of infrastructure is a big embarrassment. Government officials often brush aside the power and water shortages as teething problems of a growing economy. Business leaders see things rather differently.

"It is so embarrassing to have overseas clients visiting our office and experiencing about four power cuts during a one-hour meeting," Azim Premji, chairman of the Bangalore-based software giant Wipro, complained to the media two years ago. "Here we talk about world-class software and development centers, and we cannot control the power situation."

Clearly, India lacks the infrastructure to support its ambitions. India might like to call Bangalore its Silicon Valley, but a comparison of California with Karnataka, the state of which Bangalore is the capital, brings out the vast difference in the infrastructure of the two states. Karnataka, which has a population of 53 million, has 6,000MW of power-generation capacity - 1,200MW less than what it needs. California has 10 times the electric capacity for its 35 million people.

The response of civic authorities to demands for improving infrastructure range from outright denials of the problem to helpless hand-wringing. There are few signs that the countrywide power crisis will end soon. A recent study by the Associated Chambers of Commerce and Industry in India paints a worrying picture of the power scenario. Forty-seven power plants - 10 in northern India, 16 in the west, eight in the south, 11 in the east and two in the northeastern regions - that were to expand capacity are running far behind schedule.

Meanwhile, the average Indian will have to look up to the skies and hope for respite when the monsoons arrive. But with the rains will come another set of problems - collapsing buildings, flooded streets, overflowing sewage pipes, poor drainage - laying bare once again the country's creaking infrastructure.

Sudha Ramachandran is an independent journalist/researcher based in Bangalore.

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