At noon, Khustabi Begum is sitting on the steps leading to her three-room home, trying to escape the stifling April heat indoors. But respite is hard to come by in Rajendra Nagar, a slum in south Bengaluru. “It’s just as hot outside, but it feels worse indoors. It’s been really hot for the past five or six days, but at least there’s an occasional breeze outside,” says the 36-year-old.
Inside Begum’s dimly lit living room, ceiling fans whir. One corner is stacked with sacks of onions and just outside their home is a vending cart. “My husband sells erulli, belluli [onions, garlic],” she says.
The couple moved to Bengaluru more than a decade ago, hoping to give their three children a better education. With a nostalgic smile, Begum recalls her green and breezy village in Kishanganj district in Bihar state. “It’s actually hotter in our village, temperature-wise,” she says. “But when it got unbearable, we would go and take a stroll by the river. Here, there’s nowhere to go, just up and down this street.”
While the government’s heat advisories urge people to stay indoors between noon and 3pm, it’s pointless advice for most families in Rajendra Nagar. “The fans just circulate hot air,” she says. “We keep drinking matke ka paani [chilled water from clay pots] and step outside from time to time, but there’s nothing else to do to escape the heat inside.”
Indoor heat is recognised as a serious health hazard for vulnerable groups. Among them are low-income families in informal settlements where poorly ventilated homes are built of heat-trapping materials, and have irregular electricity and water supply. Outdoors, there’s little relief on offer because of limited access to green, open spaces.
Bengaluru, a city of lakes and gardens, has seen a steady rise in temperatures in recent years, challenging its longstanding reputation for clement year-round weather. According to the Bengaluru Climate Action and Resilience Plan, the city’s average temperature has risen by approximately 0.23C per decade since 1975, with a sharper increase of nearly 0.5C since 2009. In April, Bengaluru recorded temperatures of about 35C (95F).
In Rajendra Nagar and nearby slums such as LR Nagar and Ambedkar Nagar, most homes are built on compact plots of roughly 300 sq ft, and each household typically has five to seven members. There are power cuts several times a week, lasting from a few hours to a few days, and water is available only on alternate days or even every third day. Running fans or cooling the body with “spray bottles, damp cloths [or] ice towels”, as a government heat advisory suggests, can be challenging for people in these neighbourhoods.
Begum’s home has one window, facing a quiet side road. However, the municipality recently began road building work and is widening the sewers. “We open the window only during long power cuts,” her daughter Noor Nagina, 14, says. “Otherwise, we have to deal with mosquitoes and dust from all the work.”
Researchers at the Indian Institute for Human Settlements (IIHS), Bengaluru, point out that most heat action plans (HAPs) in India have overlooked indoor heat, especially in low-income and informal settlements. A review of 10 city-level HAPs, published in the journal Plos Climate, revealed that only two cities – Rajkot and Bhubaneshwar – explicitly acknowledged indoor heat vulnerability.
“Overall, while a few plans highlight indoor heat risks … there is a significant gap in comprehensive, scalable strategies to address these challenges,” says Swati Surampally, one of the review’s authors.
Poor ventilation does not help, says Radha N, who works with Rajendra Nagar-based NGO Swabhimaan. “Most houses in the area have narrow, tunnel-like entrances, with rooms arranged one behind the other in a straight line. This leaves little to no space for air to circulate indoors and as a result, the concrete walls heat up,” she says.
“Children sometimes wake up crying because of the heat, power cuts and the mosquitoes. As a result, their parents, who spend most of the day working outdoors, are unable to get enough rest at night.”
This, she adds, badly affects their ability to function the next day.
Allamelu John, 39, a domestic worker, only cooks early in the morning and late at night in her home to avoid the smoke and heat that builds up in the afternoon. “Our kitchens are small and lack exhaust fans, so it becomes very difficult,” she says.
At night, her family sleeps on a bedsheet spread over a charpai (a traditional woven bed) on the floor, which, she says, is cooler than sleeping on mattresses.
Across the city, in Bellahalli in north Bengaluru, Zakia Begum, 28, sits in a one-room shelter with a tarpaulin roof. She is seven months pregnant and the insufferable indoor heat in her previous tin-roofed home was one of the reasons she and her husband moved here.
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Originally from the Cooch Behar district of West Bengal, Zakia has lived in Bengaluru for nine years. Her husband works as a truck driver with a contractor transporting the municipality’s waste. Zakia quit her job as a domestic worker to look after herself during her pregnancy. Their room is part of a cluster of shanties built on open land among scattered heaps of waste.
“This summer feels different; there’s no breeze,” she says as a small table fan whirs beside her. “Sometimes, I sit by the door hoping for some air, but that’s rare now. The only thing I can do is drink lots of water.”
Most families in Zakia’s neighbourhood depend on tankers for water or buing in limited supplies. While Begum washes her face and hands often to stay cool, she knows she must use water carefully.
Migrant women’s experiences of indoor heat have come up in research by the IIHS and its partners. The project, Climate Change Local Adaptation Pathways (Claps), found that indoor heat disproportionately affects women, who shoulder paid work and unpaid domestic responsibilities.
“Women face a triple burden: they manage paid work alongside domestic chores, endure prolonged exposure while cooking in unventilated spaces, and often eat last or inadequately, heightening fatigue and health risks. Together, these factors make indoor heat a deeply gendered and under-recognised health challenge,” says Surampally, a senior research associate at IIHS, also working with Claps.
Kavita G, a social health activist who works in Rajendra Nagar, says: “Women often come to us with problems like itching, skin infections and a burning sensation while urinating, especially during periods of extreme heat.” Older people are particularly vulnerable to heat-related illnesses – including severe dehydration and heatstroke.
Researchers at IIHS say responses to extreme heat must address the structural vulnerabilities that migrant workers face – in their homes and at work. Surampally emphasises the need for heat-resilient housing through subsidies for cool roofs and improved ventilation; access to reliable electricity and water; enforcement of labour protections such as rest breaks and hydration for outdoor workers; and multilingual campaigns tailored to migrant communities.
“Many migrants compare Bengaluru’s heat to their even hotter native towns and, therefore, underplay its risks,” Surampally says. “This perception, along with limited financial resources, means that the urgency to adapt is low, even when physical discomfort is high.”
After spending on rent, daily expenses and the children’s schooling, Khustabi Begum’s family might be able to save a little in a month when the profits are healthy. But this doesn’t happen often, given the fluctuating prices of vegetables. “We cannot afford a cooler or a fridge because we have to prioritise our children’s education,” she says.
To escape the heat, small children in Rajendra Nagar often roam around naked and Begum laments the unfairness of how her husband and two boys sleep with their shirts off – a comfort not afforded to her and her daughter. “Women do not have that option,” she sighs.
