India’s Rising Tide of Climate Migration: A Crisis Without a Policy
In early June, torrential rains swept through north-east India, killing at least 46 people and displacing thousands. In Assam, over 2.6 lakh people across 11 districts were affected. More than 740 villages were submerged, and 6,000 hectares of cropland went underwater. Landslides and floods together brought the state’s death toll to 27. As transport links broke down in Manipur, Mizoram, and Tripura, rainfall records tumbled across the region.
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India recorded 5.4 million internal displacements from climate-related disasters in 2024—the highest in South Asia—according to the Internal Displacement Monitoring Centre’s (IDMC) Global Report on Internal Displacement (GRID). Despite this, there remains no national framework for identifying or rehabilitating climate-displaced people. Disaster cycles have become more erratic and frequent, overwhelming traditional coping strategies. Eastern States like Odisha and West Bengal, much of the north-east, and the hill regions of Himachal Pradesh and Uttarakhand are seeing sharper climate shocks. In the south, monsoon irregularities and flash floods are uprooting communities more often.
While India has national and State-level climate action plans, none address climate-induced migration. A 2020 study by Climate Action Network South Asia projected that 45 million people in India could be forcibly displaced by 2050.
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According to GRID 2024, floods alone triggered two-thirds of India’s disaster-related displacements last year—the highest level since 2012. Cyclones caused another 1.6 million. Assam accounted for nearly half of these movements, driven by intensifying floods, deforestation, and decaying water infrastructure. Odisha and West Bengal managed large-scale preemptive evacuations thanks to early warning systems. Tripura, without such systems in place, recorded its worst monsoon in four decades, with more than 3,00,000 people displaced.
Also Read | 90 per cent of Himalayas will face year-long drought at 3°C warming: study
A study by SEEDS (Sustainable Environment and Ecological Development Society) identified 225 districts—largely along the coasts and the Himalayan belt—at high risk of future displacement. These zones, home to roughly 300 million people, face projected steep rises in climate-induced migration within five years. “This means around 300 million people could be impacted by 2030 if we don’t act collectively,” said Yezdani Rahman, Chief of Programmes at SEEDS.
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In many of these districts, migration patterns linked to climate pressures have already emerged. In Odisha and the Sundarbans, seasonal migration has become routine. Men often travel to major cities in search of work, leaving families behind. Migration here is rarely temporary; over time, it hardens into permanence. The reasons are cumulative: collapsing agriculture, repeated home losses, and land rendered uninhabitable. “The Sundarbans, in particular, has a very high migration population, and this is ongoing,” Rahman noted.
Researchers say the absence of any official count of climate-induced migrants makes it nearly impossible to design targeted policies. In Odisha, cyclones, floods, drought, and lightning now overlap annually. In West Bengal and the Sundarbans, rising seas and erratic rainfall patterns trigger not just riverine floods but also flash floods and dam overflows. Once seasonal, the weather has turned extreme and unpredictable.
Akshit Sangomla, researcher and reporter with Down To Earth, says, “The lack of data makes it very difficult to understand the full scale of what’s happening. But we know the eastern states are the worst affected—every year, disasters are hitting harder and more unpredictably.”
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In Assam, now listed by the IDMC as India’s most climate-vulnerable State, migration has risen alongside the increasing violence of the floods. The State’s residents—many of them rice farmers—often find fields unusable after floods leave behind thick layers of sand. What was once predictable is now unstable. Migration becomes the only option.
Across Manipur, Nagaland, and Tripura, flash floods are followed by prolonged dry spells. In Bihar, floods drive steady outward migration every year. Jharkhand is facing similar pressures. In the Himalayan States of Himachal Pradesh and Uttarakhand, cloudbursts and landslides during the monsoon are now routine, with entire villages left isolated or destroyed.
Down south
In the south, Kerala has seen major flooding nearly every year since 2018. Sangomla notes that most migration in the State tends to be internal rather than outwards. Tamil Nadu and Maharashtra are seeing alternating cycles of long-term drought and sudden floods. These States are beginning to show signs of increasing climate-related migration. In Marathwada, tribal families often enter cycles of debt-based migration, working under exploitative contracts after receiving loans they cannot repay. Both adults leave, while the children stay behind. “This migration is similar to bonded labour,” Rahman said. “Contractors give them loans they can’t repay, and both husband and wife work for months, leaving their children behind. This is a kind of forced migration.”
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People walk in waist-deep water layered with oil on Manali High Road, Tiruvottiyur, in north Chennai after Cyclone Michaung wreaked havoc in the city.
| Photo Credit:
B. Jothi Ramalingam/The Hindu
Along the eastern coast, the impact is starkest. Entire villages in Odisha have vanished under rising seas. In some areas, fisherfolk have abandoned their homes permanently. The Sundarbans face at least one cyclone a year. Rebuilding is often abandoned after the third or fourth disaster. People move. “The Sundarbans face at least one cyclone every year, sometimes more,” said Rahman. “We have met families where men have not returned for three years, trying to save money for their child’s marriage.”
Migration routes
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Displaced communities often relocate nearby, only to move again when work is unavailable. Some migrate to cities like Delhi, Mumbai, Bengaluru, or Hyderabad, typically without their families. Others seek work under MGNREGA (Mahatma Gandhi National Rural Employment Guarantee Act, 2005) or join informal labour circuits. Displacement often becomes cyclical. Even after resettlement, many return to their ancestral land if livelihoods tied to the sea or the soil are still viable. In the Sundarbans, “Women often work as domestic help in tier-one and tier-two cities, while men usually work as labourers or in handicrafts. Monthly incomes are often below Rs. 3,000, far below the living standards,” Rahman noted.
In Odisha, relocation is sometimes initiated by the State, but not always coherently. In Satabhaya village, where land loss due to rise in sea level began in the 1990s, residents began protesting for relocation long before the government was prepared to act. Some left on their own. Others waited. Eventually, a relocation colony was created, but aid was routed through a patchwork of welfare schemes rather than a dedicated policy. There was no law for climate relocation, and little coordination. “But at that time, the government didn’t have a policy for such a scenario. It was a new kind of challenge, and State responses were limited by existing legal tools,” said Ranjan Panda, a climate activist and sociologist popularly known as the “Water Man of Odisha”.
India has no formal category for climate migrants. Without it, relocation remains improvised. Displaced people are rarely tracked, making long-term planning difficult. Odisha has moved some coastal communities, but relocations are often top-down. Communities are frequently resettled without consultation, leading to dissatisfaction.
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In many drought-hit regions, where geography hasn’t vanished but has become unlivable, no relocation process exists at all. These places have also reached their adaptation limits. “Initially, when farmland or homes begin to be affected, people hope for State protection,” said Panda. “But if things don’t improve, they lose motivation to stay. What is called ‘voluntary relocation’ is, in fact, forced—because they’re left with no other option.”
No national resettlement policy exists for climate-displaced people. In cases of infrastructure development—dams, highways—the displacing agency is identifiable. But with climate, displacement has no clear perpetrator. As a result, there is no designated framework for response. Aid remains piecemeal: land or housing is sometimes provided, but agricultural land, employment, and social support are rarely included. “There is no specific resettlement and rehabilitation policy for climate-displaced people,” said Panda. “In cases like dam or highway projects, we know who the displacing agency is. But here, there’s no single actor. That’s partly why governments haven’t developed a dedicated climate displacement framework.”
Localisation of climate adaptation is largely missing. State and national plans make mention of resilience but fail to address the lived experience of those displaced. India is currently drafting its first National Adaptation Plan. It may be the country’s first opportunity to formally include climate-related migration in national policy. The previous National Action Plan made no mention of it. “State and National Action Plans talk about climate resilience, but not at the level that can respond to the lived realities of vulnerable communities. These documents are being revised now, but there’s little clarity on how much local context is actually being incorporated,” Panda noted.
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At the institutional level, mandates remain divided. Climate policy sits with the Ministry of Environment, disaster relief with the Ministry of Home Affairs, and migration with the Labour Ministry. Researchers warn that this fragmentation stalls coordinated action. A 2022 private member’s Bill—the Climate Migrants (Protection and Rehabilitation) Bill—proposed a national framework, nodal authority, and dedicated fund. It failed to pass but remains one of the few legislative acknowledgements of the issue.
Advancements of attribution science
Attribution remains a challenge. It is difficult to isolate climate change as the sole reason behind any specific migration. Displacement is often driven by a mix of factors—economic hardship, caste, gender, or loss of land—of which climate is only one. But as attribution science advances, more events are being linked to rising global temperatures. This recognition, however, has not translated into policy.
The term “climate refugee” has no legal standing in India or globally. Without recognition, there is no formal support. Climate finance—especially from international mechanisms—remains largely inaccessible for migration-related rehabilitation. Most responses fall back on disaster relief or general welfare entitlements, which seldom meet long-term needs.
Cyclone Fani, which hit Odisha in 1999, caused 64 deaths despite the evacuation of more than 10 lakh people. The cyclone spurred major disaster management reforms—but two decades on, climate displacement still lacks a coherent policy or institutional framework.
| Photo Credit:
THE HINDU
Odisha’s experience after the 1999 super cyclone, when over 10,000 people died, marked a turning point. The State built a sophisticated disaster response system with early warning networks, coordinated evacuations, and civil society partnerships. The shift led to fewer deaths from subsequent cyclones, heatwaves, and floods. But the challenge has evolved. Now, it is not just about survival, but about the continuity of livelihoods, community, and mental health. “Odisha focused on a zero-casualty approach,” said Panda, “and it worked—deaths from heatwaves, cyclones, and floods have reduced significantly.” Yet today, with rising temperatures, changing rainfall patterns, and intensified disasters, “Zero deaths are not enough any more,” Panda cautioned. “Loss of livelihoods and mental health impacts also need to be addressed. We need to move from emergency response to long-term climate resilience.”
Researchers argue for a five-phased model of resilience. It begins with anticipation: understanding local risks. Then, survival: the ability to function independently during a disaster. Next, recovery: rebuilding with foresight. After that, adaptation: modifying systems to face new realities. Finally, thriving: moving beyond survival toward long-term well-being. “The word resilience is everywhere now,” said Rahman. “But what do we mean by it, what are its parameters?” Recovery, he stressed, is particularly challenging. “Studies show that if a family experiences a major disaster, it can take up to 19 years to recover to their previous status—and recovery is slow,” Rahman noted.
This model requires community participation at every stage. Without it, even well-designed policies falter. Disaster plans, if not demystified for ordinary citizens, remain ineffective. Infrastructure must evolve—from cyclone shelters to raised school buildings and flood-resilient health centres. In Assam, traditional stilt houses built by the Mising community are under strain as flood levels rise higher than their stilts. “Even District Magistrates may understand 80 per cent of a disaster plan, but a common person may only understand 30 to 40 per cent. What use are plans if people can’t understand them?” Rahman said.
Also Read | Bangladesh joins the race to climate-proof cities in South Asia
According to Panda, Odisha, despite its reputation for preparedness, has significant gaps. Climate-resilient infrastructure remains sparse in many parts of India. “Resilience now needs to go beyond disaster response. We need to invest in infrastructure that anticipates future threats,” Panda said. He argued that States like Odisha need to engage proactively with global frameworks such as the loss and damage fund. “It’s not just about receiving finance—it’s about ensuring it reaches the ground,” he said.
Amendments to the Disaster Management Act, passed in 2024, expanded the National Disaster Management Authority’s (NDMA) role to include climate risk assessments. But the law still lacks mechanisms to account for State-specific vulnerabilities. Critics have pointed out that funding formulas remain tied to population and area, not to actual risk.
As sea levels rise and rainfall patterns shift, India continues to lack a formal system to identify, support, and integrate climate-displaced people. Those displaced continue to move—unseen, uncounted, and unsupported. “No community wants to leave its traditional area. Leaving means losing their identity and rights over local resources,” Panda said. “But when areas reach their adaptation limits—whether because of coastal erosion or persistent drought—migration becomes inevitable.”
Advertising
In early June, torrential rains swept through north-east India, killing at least 46 people and displacing thousands. In Assam, over 2.6 lakh people across 11 districts were affected. More than 740 villages were submerged, and 6,000 hectares of cropland went underwater. Landslides and floods together brought the state’s death toll to 27. As transport links broke down in Manipur, Mizoram, and Tripura, rainfall records tumbled across the region.
India recorded 5.4 million internal displacements from climate-related disasters in 2024—the highest in South Asia—according to the Internal Displacement Monitoring Centre’s (IDMC) Global Report on Internal Displacement (GRID). Despite this, there remains no national framework for identifying or rehabilitating climate-displaced people. Disaster cycles have become more erratic and frequent, overwhelming traditional coping strategies. Eastern States like Odisha and West Bengal, much of the north-east, and the hill regions of Himachal Pradesh and Uttarakhand are seeing sharper climate shocks. In the south, monsoon irregularities and flash floods are uprooting communities more often.
While India has national and State-level climate action plans, none address climate-induced migration. A 2020 study by Climate Action Network South Asia projected that 45 million people in India could be forcibly displaced by 2050.
According to GRID 2024, floods alone triggered two-thirds of India’s disaster-related displacements last year—the highest level since 2012. Cyclones caused another 1.6 million. Assam accounted for nearly half of these movements, driven by intensifying floods, deforestation, and decaying water infrastructure. Odisha and West Bengal managed large-scale preemptive evacuations thanks to early warning systems. Tripura, without such systems in place, recorded its worst monsoon in four decades, with more than 3,00,000 people displaced.
Also Read | 90 per cent of Himalayas will face year-long drought at 3°C warming: study
A study by SEEDS (Sustainable Environment and Ecological Development Society) identified 225 districts—largely along the coasts and the Himalayan belt—at high risk of future displacement. These zones, home to roughly 300 million people, face projected steep rises in climate-induced migration within five years. “This means around 300 million people could be impacted by 2030 if we don’t act collectively,” said Yezdani Rahman, Chief of Programmes at SEEDS.
In many of these districts, migration patterns linked to climate pressures have already emerged. In Odisha and the Sundarbans, seasonal migration has become routine. Men often travel to major cities in search of work, leaving families behind. Migration here is rarely temporary; over time, it hardens into permanence. The reasons are cumulative: collapsing agriculture, repeated home losses, and land rendered uninhabitable. “The Sundarbans, in particular, has a very high migration population, and this is ongoing,” Rahman noted.
Researchers say the absence of any official count of climate-induced migrants makes it nearly impossible to design targeted policies. In Odisha, cyclones, floods, drought, and lightning now overlap annually. In West Bengal and the Sundarbans, rising seas and erratic rainfall patterns trigger not just riverine floods but also flash floods and dam overflows. Once seasonal, the weather has turned extreme and unpredictable.
Akshit Sangomla, researcher and reporter with Down To Earth, says, “The lack of data makes it very difficult to understand the full scale of what’s happening. But we know the eastern states are the worst affected—every year, disasters are hitting harder and more unpredictably.”
In Assam, now listed by the IDMC as India’s most climate-vulnerable State, migration has risen alongside the increasing violence of the floods. The State’s residents—many of them rice farmers—often find fields unusable after floods leave behind thick layers of sand. What was once predictable is now unstable. Migration becomes the only option.
Across Manipur, Nagaland, and Tripura, flash floods are followed by prolonged dry spells. In Bihar, floods drive steady outward migration every year. Jharkhand is facing similar pressures. In the Himalayan States of Himachal Pradesh and Uttarakhand, cloudbursts and landslides during the monsoon are now routine, with entire villages left isolated or destroyed.
Down south
In the south, Kerala has seen major flooding nearly every year since 2018. Sangomla notes that most migration in the State tends to be internal rather than outwards. Tamil Nadu and Maharashtra are seeing alternating cycles of long-term drought and sudden floods. These States are beginning to show signs of increasing climate-related migration. In Marathwada, tribal families often enter cycles of debt-based migration, working under exploitative contracts after receiving loans they cannot repay. Both adults leave, while the children stay behind. “This migration is similar to bonded labour,” Rahman said. “Contractors give them loans they can’t repay, and both husband and wife work for months, leaving their children behind. This is a kind of forced migration.”
People walk in waist-deep water layered with oil on Manali High Road, Tiruvottiyur, in north Chennai after Cyclone Michaung wreaked havoc in the city.
| Photo Credit:
B. Jothi Ramalingam/The Hindu
Along the eastern coast, the impact is starkest. Entire villages in Odisha have vanished under rising seas. In some areas, fisherfolk have abandoned their homes permanently. The Sundarbans face at least one cyclone a year. Rebuilding is often abandoned after the third or fourth disaster. People move. “The Sundarbans face at least one cyclone every year, sometimes more,” said Rahman. “We have met families where men have not returned for three years, trying to save money for their child’s marriage.”
Migration routes
Displaced communities often relocate nearby, only to move again when work is unavailable. Some migrate to cities like Delhi, Mumbai, Bengaluru, or Hyderabad, typically without their families. Others seek work under MGNREGA (Mahatma Gandhi National Rural Employment Guarantee Act, 2005) or join informal labour circuits. Displacement often becomes cyclical. Even after resettlement, many return to their ancestral land if livelihoods tied to the sea or the soil are still viable. In the Sundarbans, “Women often work as domestic help in tier-one and tier-two cities, while men usually work as labourers or in handicrafts. Monthly incomes are often below Rs. 3,000, far below the living standards,” Rahman noted.
In Odisha, relocation is sometimes initiated by the State, but not always coherently. In Satabhaya village, where land loss due to rise in sea level began in the 1990s, residents began protesting for relocation long before the government was prepared to act. Some left on their own. Others waited. Eventually, a relocation colony was created, but aid was routed through a patchwork of welfare schemes rather than a dedicated policy. There was no law for climate relocation, and little coordination. “But at that time, the government didn’t have a policy for such a scenario. It was a new kind of challenge, and State responses were limited by existing legal tools,” said Ranjan Panda, a climate activist and sociologist popularly known as the “Water Man of Odisha”.
India has no formal category for climate migrants. Without it, relocation remains improvised. Displaced people are rarely tracked, making long-term planning difficult. Odisha has moved some coastal communities, but relocations are often top-down. Communities are frequently resettled without consultation, leading to dissatisfaction.
In many drought-hit regions, where geography hasn’t vanished but has become unlivable, no relocation process exists at all. These places have also reached their adaptation limits. “Initially, when farmland or homes begin to be affected, people hope for State protection,” said Panda. “But if things don’t improve, they lose motivation to stay. What is called ‘voluntary relocation’ is, in fact, forced—because they’re left with no other option.”
No national resettlement policy exists for climate-displaced people. In cases of infrastructure development—dams, highways—the displacing agency is identifiable. But with climate, displacement has no clear perpetrator. As a result, there is no designated framework for response. Aid remains piecemeal: land or housing is sometimes provided, but agricultural land, employment, and social support are rarely included. “There is no specific resettlement and rehabilitation policy for climate-displaced people,” said Panda. “In cases like dam or highway projects, we know who the displacing agency is. But here, there’s no single actor. That’s partly why governments haven’t developed a dedicated climate displacement framework.”
Localisation of climate adaptation is largely missing. State and national plans make mention of resilience but fail to address the lived experience of those displaced. India is currently drafting its first National Adaptation Plan. It may be the country’s first opportunity to formally include climate-related migration in national policy. The previous National Action Plan made no mention of it. “State and National Action Plans talk about climate resilience, but not at the level that can respond to the lived realities of vulnerable communities. These documents are being revised now, but there’s little clarity on how much local context is actually being incorporated,” Panda noted.
At the institutional level, mandates remain divided. Climate policy sits with the Ministry of Environment, disaster relief with the Ministry of Home Affairs, and migration with the Labour Ministry. Researchers warn that this fragmentation stalls coordinated action. A 2022 private member’s Bill—the Climate Migrants (Protection and Rehabilitation) Bill—proposed a national framework, nodal authority, and dedicated fund. It failed to pass but remains one of the few legislative acknowledgements of the issue.
Advancements of attribution science
Attribution remains a challenge. It is difficult to isolate climate change as the sole reason behind any specific migration. Displacement is often driven by a mix of factors—economic hardship, caste, gender, or loss of land—of which climate is only one. But as attribution science advances, more events are being linked to rising global temperatures. This recognition, however, has not translated into policy.
The term “climate refugee” has no legal standing in India or globally. Without recognition, there is no formal support. Climate finance—especially from international mechanisms—remains largely inaccessible for migration-related rehabilitation. Most responses fall back on disaster relief or general welfare entitlements, which seldom meet long-term needs.
Cyclone Fani, which hit Odisha in 1999, caused 64 deaths despite the evacuation of more than 10 lakh people. The cyclone spurred major disaster management reforms—but two decades on, climate displacement still lacks a coherent policy or institutional framework.
| Photo Credit:
THE HINDU
Odisha’s experience after the 1999 super cyclone, when over 10,000 people died, marked a turning point. The State built a sophisticated disaster response system with early warning networks, coordinated evacuations, and civil society partnerships. The shift led to fewer deaths from subsequent cyclones, heatwaves, and floods. But the challenge has evolved. Now, it is not just about survival, but about the continuity of livelihoods, community, and mental health. “Odisha focused on a zero-casualty approach,” said Panda, “and it worked—deaths from heatwaves, cyclones, and floods have reduced significantly.” Yet today, with rising temperatures, changing rainfall patterns, and intensified disasters, “Zero deaths are not enough any more,” Panda cautioned. “Loss of livelihoods and mental health impacts also need to be addressed. We need to move from emergency response to long-term climate resilience.”
Researchers argue for a five-phased model of resilience. It begins with anticipation: understanding local risks. Then, survival: the ability to function independently during a disaster. Next, recovery: rebuilding with foresight. After that, adaptation: modifying systems to face new realities. Finally, thriving: moving beyond survival toward long-term well-being. “The word resilience is everywhere now,” said Rahman. “But what do we mean by it, what are its parameters?” Recovery, he stressed, is particularly challenging. “Studies show that if a family experiences a major disaster, it can take up to 19 years to recover to their previous status—and recovery is slow,” Rahman noted.
This model requires community participation at every stage. Without it, even well-designed policies falter. Disaster plans, if not demystified for ordinary citizens, remain ineffective. Infrastructure must evolve—from cyclone shelters to raised school buildings and flood-resilient health centres. In Assam, traditional stilt houses built by the Mising community are under strain as flood levels rise higher than their stilts. “Even District Magistrates may understand 80 per cent of a disaster plan, but a common person may only understand 30 to 40 per cent. What use are plans if people can’t understand them?” Rahman said.
Also Read | Bangladesh joins the race to climate-proof cities in South Asia
According to Panda, Odisha, despite its reputation for preparedness, has significant gaps. Climate-resilient infrastructure remains sparse in many parts of India. “Resilience now needs to go beyond disaster response. We need to invest in infrastructure that anticipates future threats,” Panda said. He argued that States like Odisha need to engage proactively with global frameworks such as the loss and damage fund. “It’s not just about receiving finance—it’s about ensuring it reaches the ground,” he said.
Amendments to the Disaster Management Act, passed in 2024, expanded the National Disaster Management Authority’s (NDMA) role to include climate risk assessments. But the law still lacks mechanisms to account for State-specific vulnerabilities. Critics have pointed out that funding formulas remain tied to population and area, not to actual risk.
As sea levels rise and rainfall patterns shift, India continues to lack a formal system to identify, support, and integrate climate-displaced people. Those displaced continue to move—unseen, uncounted, and unsupported. “No community wants to leave its traditional area. Leaving means losing their identity and rights over local resources,” Panda said. “But when areas reach their adaptation limits—whether because of coastal erosion or persistent drought—migration becomes inevitable.”
