Cold, hot, wet: road workers in Ladakh

"This is the spot where I nearly got buried in snow. Many assumed I had died.”

Sharap recalls the heavy snowfall raining down at 17,480 feet on Tanglang La mountain pass. “The other labourers rushed to save me,” he adds. He was lucky that the army hospital was close and he could be treated quickly.

Road construction labourers like Sharap working in the high-altitude ranges of Ladakh routinely face uncertain weather and the risks that follow. Temperatures frequently dip below freezing, but in the last two decades, there’s more. “We face higher risks now as late snowfall – brought on by a climate change -- brings heavy snow,” says Sharap, a resident of Gya village in Leh district.

It’s the responsibility of workers like Sharap and his team to re-open Tanglang La – the second highest pass in the region. The intense cold and extreme weather closes the pass from October to May. Opening the pass ensures smooth traffic on the Leh to Manali highway – a 428-kilometre journey that goes over four passes, and Tanglang La is the highest point. While the view from here is stunning, the wind and cold make it difficult for anyone to stand and look around for more than 10 to 15 minutes.

When PARI met Sharap and his colleagues, they were busy building a retaining wall beside the mountain road to prevent rocks from falling, endangering vehicles and damaging the road. The ground in Leh is made up of granite and loose sediments. Rain, especially cloud bursts, unseats the rocks and sends them crashing downhill. The sharp gradients aid run-off, and farms, construction labour and pastoralists are greatly impacted.

“Repairing roads is a tedious job. We need to mix the cement by hand. We work in the heat and cold for 7-8 hours with two breaks in between for tea and lunch," adds Sharap.

Months later, in August 2024, as the sun was setting, I observed a group of Ladakhi villagers returning to their village of Hunder on foot. It was about 6:30 p.m., a tad late for them to be returning home. "Jullay!” I greeted them using the familiar term in the high mountains. “Why so late?"

They stopped to respond: "Jullay! We were unable to work in the afternoon. It was really hot, so we took a break,” they said pointing to a small shed near the road site. “We do hard work. Dust and heat are really exhausting for us."

There is a significant rise in surface temperatures throughout the Himalayan region, over the past six decades, says this report: Assessment of Climate Change Over the Indian Region. While extreme cold weather is expected in this region, extreme heat is something new and worrying.

And not just cold and heat. Even rainfall is out of sync.

Sonum Lotus looks worriedly outside his window where rain in August is blurring the view. “We have received 44 mm of rain in July and August [2025] which is way too high by any standard,” says the Director of Indian Meteorological Department (IMD) in Ladakh.

His anxiety is based on recent catastrophic events. Ladakh has experienced a series of devastating flash floods since 2005, the worst being in 2010 which took 233 human lives. Similar incidents of cloud burst resulting in low intensity flooding and mud slides were also reported in 2012, 2016 and recently in 2018. As Ladakh warms up, Sonum Lotus says more flash floods are expected.

There is little doubt that climate change is exacerbating the occurrence and severity of flash floods in the Ladakh region, says a government-funded research body. It recognises that Ladakh’s “unique geographic and climatic conditions make it especially vulnerable to these events, with far-reaching consequences for local communities and ecosystems.”

On August 24, 2025, it begins raining and continues without a pause for the next four days, bringing the Union Territory of Ladakh to a standstill. Leh airport closes operations for four days, and schools, anganwadi centres and other state institutions remain shut.

The next day, my friend Tenzin Dorje calls to tell me I will not be able to travel to Khardung La top to interview villagers working there. “The district administration has banned vehicular traffic due to the heavy snowfall. Imagine it’s snowing in August? Everything is very different now,” he says over the phone.

In mid-August there was a flash flood in Saspol at 5 p.m. The town is a critical junction between Leh to Srinagar Highway. When I reached Saspol a week later, signs of devastation from flash floods were all around: uprooted trees, mud covered terrain, fallen boulders that destroyed the 14 feet wide road.

Workers from nearby villages such as Likir and Saspol were working on restoring the road. Migrant workers had also been employed. I met Rajesh Bhalla from Jharkhand who is on night duty, watching over the materials. “We must always be prepared to remove the obstruction or fix the route. Sometimes we have to work round the clock,” he says.

Staying at this altitude in this weather is tough. “It’s summer time, but suddenly it started snowing at night. I felt the tent come down on me. It was very scary,” the 39-year-old told PARI. It was already noon and time for lunch so the conversation came to an end.

These jobs have always been a magnet for migrant workers from Jharkhand, Chhattisgarh, Bihar, Madhya Pradesh, and other regions of the country. Building projects have received a fillip since Ladakh became a Union Territory in 2019, where earlier it was a district in Jammu and Kashmir.

“Ladakh's strategic location has led to significant changes, particularly after the Indo-China conflict in June 2020,” says Tenzin Dorje, a local travel agent from Leh. “Road projects paced up, connectivity to border villages improved to facilitate smoother army movements.”

Ladakh has 4,300 km of roads, and the administration's ‘Vision 2050’ wants all roads to become all weather roads, so road labour is in high demand here.

Tsering Angmo is one of a group of 13 labourers working on repairing a road in Saspol. “It's a very risky job [repairing roads] but we have to fix this junction of the road before winter sets in., At this altitude, the more we have to work in the rain, we will have higher chances to get fever, cough and cold.”

She and others are on contract with the General Reserve Engineer Force (GREF), the parent of the Border Roads Organisation (BRO).

“I hope the rain won’t start again. If it does then work will be delayed,” says Tsering, who everyone calls ache Tsering. In Ladakhi, ache or ache-le means elder sister. Delayed work, is delayed payments, and extreme weather like rain can shut down working days for them, resulting in financial loss.

As ‘non-permanent labourers’ with the GREF, their average salary varies between Rs.12,000 to 25,000 a month, depending upon how much of an emergency it is, and how risky it is. This group of 13 will take home around Rs.16,900.

“It gets really hot throughout the day. I thought I'd faint one day from the heat,” says another worker Sonum Montop, also in Saspol.

The 39-year-old from Likir picks up a cup of tea and continues talking: “Rainy days are becoming more common; I was born and bred here, and while the weather pattern has changed, the taste of gur gur [traditional Ladakhi salt tea] has not. So have a cup of gur gur.”

Most people take a deep breath on seeing the wide open expanse of the high mountains. But that may not be a good idea – there has been an increase in dust storms and airborne allergens are degrading air quality even in this region.

Dr. Sonam Norboo says he found many Ladakhi patients suffering from respiratory illness. “I investigated further and learnt they had TB [tuberculosis],” adds Norboo who is among the region’s first physicians. Early on, the now 82-year-old doctor had done extensive research on villagers of the Indus river region.

His later research showed that a group of pulmonary diseases clinically known as Pneumoconiosis was highly prevalent here. Pneumoconiosis is a group of occupational lung diseases caused by inhaling fine dusts and fibres, such as coal dust, silica, or asbestos.

His readings are echoed in a 1991 research paper on the prevalence of pneumoconiosis in three villages of Ladakh. The writers say that it corresponds with the severity of dust storms and the use of chimneys in the kitchens, as well as the high silica content in the air during a storm. “Exposure to free silica from dust storms and soot from domestic fuels are suggested as causes of these cases of pneumoconiosis,” it says.

Dr. Norboo says that while climate change does not directly cause pneumoconiosis, it can worsen its effects and create new risks. “Warmer temperatures can lead to increased dust, which carries pathogens and mineral particles that cause lung conditions like silicosis and desert lung syndrome. So, any workers who already have these conditions will suffer more,” he told PARI.

At one time, Ladakhis would cite August as the month to travel in the region. But in the last decade and more, it has become hazardous to take trips here.

Later that day, at the monastery of Tsemo Goenkhang, I notice a few workers resting in a makeshift tent nearby. They told this reporter: “we can't go back because the road to Nubra Valley is closed today. The rain will stop only when it has impacted our jobs, health, and homes. We are at the mercy of nature.”