Late September brought Ladakh back in the news. There were violent protests in Leh that led to a number of unfortunate deaths. Curfews were put in place, and environmentalist Sonam Wangchuk was arrested under the National Security Act. Protests have since extended to Delhi, Chandigarh, and Dehradun, but the national awareness of the core issue of climate change remains low.
Why doesn’t a cry from the roof of the world resonate down to the plains? Ladakh is not warning about an administrative issue or a border grievance. It’s an existential problem that will eventually affect every family in India.
The Roof of the World Is Cracking
The Himalaya, often termed “India’s northern sentinel,” is a wall of ice and stone that protects the subcontinent. But scientists tell us that this wall is still new and weak. A large share of India’s climate-related disasters now strikes the Himalayan belt. Cloudbursts in Himachal, landslides in Uttarakhand, and glacial-lake bursts in Sikkim are just a few examples. Ladakh is also seeing the same pattern.
Satellite studies from 2000 to 2021 show that almost all of Ladakh’s glaciers have lost mass, and many are melting at rates that have never been seen before. The Parkachik Glacier in the Suru Valley used to be considered stable, but it currently shrinks by around twenty metres every year. Seventy-seven glaciers in the Drass region got thinner by more than a metre between 2000 and 2020. There are now glacial lakes where ice used to be: silent lakes whose fragile rims can fail without warning.
Glaciers don’t melt gently. First, there is a flood when lakes overflow and break their banks. Then comes drought, when the reservoir itself dries up. The cycle of pehle baadh, phir sukha—flood first, drought after—is already happening in villages from Kargil to Nubra.
These ice masses hold back the rivers in North India that are lifelines for hundreds of millions of people. Their retreat is not just bad for Ladakh; it’s like the ceiling above our own homes is collapsing.
A Desert of Ice, Now Without Ice
Ladakh is different from the rest of the Himalaya because it is in a rain shadow. It only gets about 100 mm of rain a year; therefore practically all of the water comes from melting snow. As the snowline rises each year, springs dry up, crops die, and people start to move.
A 2023 study by the Wadia Institute of Himalayan Geology revealed that groundwater levels in some areas of Leh and Kargil were dropping quickly because glaciers were no longer regularly feeding the aquifers. People in whole villages have reported that perennial springs have gone missing. Local engineers like Sonam Wangchuk came up with the idea of building “ice stupas,” which are fake glaciers that hold winter melt for summer irrigation. This creativity is amazing and can teach us all about how to manage water better, but it is still just a temporary fix for a dying cryosphere. This shows how important it is to make bigger changes to the system as a whole.
At high altitudes, even a small amount of warming has a big effect. A rise of 1.5 degrees Celcius around the world means a rise of 3 degrees Celsius or more in Ladakh. The effects happen quickly: the permafrost melts, the soil slides, and the slopes that were once frozen start to move. What seems solid now might flow tomorrow.
Extreme Weather Is the New Normal
Extreme weather events in India are no more random but routine. The India Meteorological Department (IMD) said there were extreme-weather events on about 314 days in 2022. The department recorded more than 310 of these days by 2024. The Himalaya bore the biggest share of these events.
Ladakh’s temperature data suggest that the area is getting warmer and that there is less snow falling. Farmers see it more clearly: barley ripens too soon, apricot blossoms come weeks before the pollinators, and streams that used to flow through August now dry up by June.
When the mountains fall ill, the plains don’t stay well. The timing of meltwater coming down from the north affects crops in Punjab and Bihar. Even a two-week change can mean the difference between a good harvest and a bad one.
The Hunger Beneath the Ice
Climate change affects us three times a day: at breakfast, lunch, and dinner. The FAO’s 2023 State of Food Security report says that over three billion people are malnourished in some way, whether from hunger, a lack of micronutrients, or a poor diet. Two billion people don’t know when their next meal will be, and almost a billion go to bed hungry every night.
This will get worse because of the Himalayan situation. According to research in Nature Climate Change and Indian agricultural studies, India’s main crops—wheat, rice, maize, bajra, and jowar—are expected to have lower yields by mid-century, with losses ranging from 6 to 25 percent depending on the climate scenario. Without adaptive measures like resilient crop varieties, the losses could be even bigger. When supply shrinks, prices rise; the poorest—who spend most of their money on food—will be hurt first.
We are proud to supply 800 million people with free food. But that pride hides a weakness: what happens when the ecosystem we rely on starts to break down? We celebrate the present while sitting on a fuse for famine.
Feedback Loops of Destruction
Snow and ice reflect sunlight. Lose that albedo and dark rock speeds the thaw. Soot from diesel traffic and roadwork makes the glaciers darker, making them absorb more heat. Water vapour, which is a greenhouse gas, rises from melting ice. Instead of absorbing carbon, warmer oceans release it.
These aren’t lyrical metaphors; they’re feedback loops that can be measured. If the average temperature around the world goes up by 2 °C, it might mean that temperatures in northern India could rise by 4 to 8 °C. Think about Delhi or Jaipur at 55 degrees Celsius. At that temperature, even air-conditioners break down because their circuits melt, tyres fuse with asphalt, and people stop working outside. This isn’t prophecy; it’s science.
Water and War
Thirst will come along with food insecurity. In the next few decades, more than a hundred towns throughout the world are expected to have very little water. Thirty of these cities are in India. Jaipur, Indore, Thane, and Srinagar are all on the same line as Bengaluru, which gets a lot of attention.
The melting glaciers in Ladakh are not isolated; they also feed the Indus, Sutlej, and Zanskar rivers, which are vital for farming and cities in northern India. Political boundaries won’t mean much if the headwaters fail. People will, in effect, migrate with the water, not the other way around.
The IPCC says that if no one does anything, about a billion people around the world might become climate refugees this century. Countries are already fighting for a few thousand. In the past, wars were fought over colonies and then over oil. Unless cooperative frameworks like India’s river-sharing agreements with its neighbours grow to put shared resilience first, the battles of the future may be for water.
The Silence of Distraction
If the threat is so clear, why don’t more people act? Because we are all distracted. Endless entertainment, fights between groups, and the cult of GDP are all drugs. People think of climate change as something far away or too technical, even as it eats away at life itself.
Individual actions like turning off lights and planting trees are important, but they only fix about five percent of the problem. The other ninety-five percent needs a change in the way we make energy, cultivate food, and build cities.
Carbon emissions track consumption. Consider economic inequality: the top 10 percent of earners are responsible for half of all emissions, while the bottom billion are responsible for nearly none. India’s problem is how to make sure everyone has dignity without going back to the consumption patterns that ruined the climate.
Global Forest Watch and India’s Forest Survey say the country lost more than 2.5 million hectares of forest cover between 2020 and 2023. Most of this was due to development projects that promise prosperity tomorrow while destroying the ecosystems that make prosperity possible.
When Growth Devours Life
We now worship GDP. Yet India has already lost about ten percent of its growth in recent years because of climate change. In the worst-case scenario, the loss might be as high as thirty percent by mid-century. The figures are vague, but the harm is real: crops that have been wrecked, infrastructure that has fallen apart, and deaths due to heat.
Some say that India should focus on development first and that taking action on climate change is only for the wealthy. But this is not a real choice: climate change has already hurt our growth; therefore, real development must now mean being able to adapt. We build buildings to show progress, while the mountains that feed our rivers are falling apart. The contradiction is clear: growth eats the land it stands on.
Scientific Evidence of a Region in Distress
According to research from the Indian Institute of Science and local weather data, the average temperature in Leh has gone up by roughly 1.6 °C since 1980. Over the past 20 years, Ladakh’s glaciers have lost about 14 percent of their mass. At the same time, snowfall has decreased and heavy-rain events have increased, causing flash floods followed by long periods of dry weather. Groundwater levels are dropping, old springs are disappearing, alpine meadows are getting smaller, yaks are suffering heat stress, and new glacial lakes now threaten abrupt outburst floods.
This collection of data shows what Ladakhis already know: their land is getting warmer faster than the national average, and the delicate balance between snow, soil, and sun is breaking down.
A Mirror, Not a Margin
It’s easy to think of Ladakh as India’s most remote area, useful for tourism brochures and border maps. In reality, it is a mirror that shows our common fate. You can see the hunger of the farmer in Bihar, the thirst of the worker in Delhi, and the worry of families on the beaches in those glaciers that are melting.
All of the feedback loops happening there—melting ice, unpredictable monsoons, and tired soil—will eventually reach the plains. The Himalaya is not just a beautiful sight; it is the subcontinent’s cooling system. When the engine gets too hot, every field and faucet below will tremble.
The Real Logic Behind the Protests
The protests going on lately are not just about Ladakh’s political position or independence. They are a warning for civilisation. Sonam Wangchuk and local farmers are on a hunger strike to draw attention to something deeper than government negligence. They are pointing out the climate emergency that India would rather not notice.
Wangchuk’s worries about glaciers melting, black-carbon pollution, and water scarcity are not overblown; they are based on data reviewed by scientists in India and abroad. His appeal for ecological protection is based on facts, not beliefs. The slogans on the streets of Ladakh, like “Save our mountains, save our water,” are scientific realities put into words people can grasp. These facts call for not only local protections but also national promises to plant trees again, build infrastructure that doesn’t add to carbon emissions, and let communities lead the way in protecting the environment across the Himalaya.
It would be just as foolish to ignore them because they are from a faraway district as it would be to ignore the smoke alarm because it goes off in another room.
What Can Be Done
Ladakh needs to be declared an ecologically vulnerable zone right away, with limits on construction and tourism that can be enforced and paid for with green bonds. Local governments should keep an eye on this under the Environment Protection Act. India needs to set strict goals for reforestation in the Himalaya, such as recovering at least one million hectares by 2035 as part of the National Mission for a Green India. It also needs to cut down on black-carbon emissions by making transportation and brick-kiln policies greener. Most importantly, the national discussion needs to examine the way we use ice-covered mountains as disposable backdrops for growth aspirations.
These are not hard things to ask for. They need political will, not technological marvels.
Freedom from Denial
Sonam Wangchuk has to be released, but real freedom comes from working together to safeguard Himalayan habitats, encourage sustainable consumption, and prioritise renewable energy.
Ladakh isn’t yelling for itself; it’s yelling for all of us. The Himalaya has already made its statement—in ice, in floods, and in silence. Not just ice melts there; so does human awareness.
We need to look in the mirror. And when we do, we’ll understand that the protests in Ladakh aren’t acts of rebellion; they’re acts of remembrance, reminding a distracted civilisation that when the roof collapses, every room below is lost.
Acharya Prashant is a philosopher and teacher of global wisdom literature, founder of the PrashantAdvait Foundation, and bestselling author who brings timeless insight to urgent modern questions
