How heat divides by class

Dizzy spells, irregular periods and no access to medical aid. Delhi's scorching heat before the rains hit the capital impacted its informal workers the worst, documents a researcher on the heat trail

Tulika Bansal

Illustration by: Tulika Bansal

In May 2025, as Delhi reeled under temperatures nearing 50°C, its most vulnerable workers buckled up to bear the onslaught of the escalating climate crisis. Despite the heat, the city continued to function thanks to the people holding it together: sanitation and construction workers, delivery riders, security guards and waste handlers. Many of them migrants. Many of them Dalit. Many of them women.

I spent much of May speaking to these workers in alleyways in Chhatarpur, demolition sites in Bhati Mines, unregulated godowns in Lal Kuan Basti and housing societies in Gurugram. The stories that emerged were those of unbelievable hardship and resilience.

Stories from Delhi’s most vulnerable

Delhi’s outdoor labour force predominantly comprises migrants from impoverished regions in Uttar Pradesh, Bihar, Rajasthan and Madhya Pradesh. Approximately 40 percent of the city’s informal sector workers is made up of migrants—sanitation, construction and textile workers, street vendors, rickshaw drivers and others. Most of these sectors have no social security, a factor that exacerbates the workers’ vulnerability.

In Delhi’s affluent Chhatarpur area, where the capital’s elite live and party in lavish farmhouses, I met a group of sanitation workers at their local temple. Vijay Kumar, who has cleaned Delhi’s streets for  20 years, told me, “We belong to the Balmiki (Dalit) community, which traditionally does garbage collection and sanitation work. We are often treated like garbage ourselves. But if we stop cleaning for just one day due to the heat, the city will turn into a dump yard.”

The World Health Organisation (WHO) recommends drinking two to three litres of water a day during heatwaves, but these workers have scarce access to clean water at work. “Often, people don’t give us  drinking water when we run out because we are Dalits (untouchables),” said Kumar. “Sometimes, we drink dirty water from a tank.”

Another sanitation worker told me that where he was employed, the number of workers had dwindled from 100 to 25, and they were thus forced to do double shifts in the heat. “If we refuse, they fire us,” he said. The worker also recounted the dangers of working without protective gear in toxic septic tanks. “Four men from our village died cleaning such tanks,” he said. “They got no compensation.”

Manju, a female sanitation worker, whispered to me about working through her periods without rest or protection. “Our skin burns and our periods become irregular,” she said. When I asked what would help them, one woman said: “All we 

want is a shaded place where we can get cold water, perhaps a fan, a place to eat our lunch and change our clothes.”

Aggravated temperatures inside trucks

Later that week, near an industrial waste incineration plant in East Delhi, I met a group of young waste handlers enduring 14-hour shifts inside trucks. It feels like a furnace,” said one, describing the suffocating conditions inside the trucks where the temperature can build up to nearly 60°C. Another worker told me that breathing was often difficult because of the heat and constant stench, and brought on dizzy spells.

The workers earn only Rs 21,000 a month with no overtime, sick leave or safety gear. They buy their own uniforms and water. “We are not asking for much,” said a 19-year-old, the youngest of the group. “Just basic protection and access to emergency medical care in a decent hospital.” While entering the sweltering truck to drive off to the next round of waste collection, his colleague yelled out, “We are not machines, you know; we are human like everyone else.”

Women workers: braving the heat barefoot

Next, I visited a demolition site in one of Delhi’s poorest areas, Sanjay Colony in the Bhatti Mines neighbourhood. I saw women carrying 30 kilos of rubble on their heads, and lifted a load myself to better understand their situation. The load was too heavy for me even while standing, let alone walking.

Shamo, a mother of three, told me with tears in her eyes that her husband died not very long ago from an untreated injury on a similar construction site. Now she works alone like other women, who  often work till the last day of their pregnancy and return just days after giving birth. “Sometimes we have to bring our babies with us,” said her colleague Geeta.  “We feed them a mixture of atta (flour dough) mixed with water and sugar to keep them calm in the hot sun.”

Shruthi Mahalingaiah, associate professor of environmental, reproductive, and women’s health at the Harvard T H Chan School of Public Health, highlights that pregnant women and their foetuses are particularly vulnerable to extreme heat, which can lead to pregnancy complications. “A pregnant woman’s body is already changing, and it is challenging for the body to regulate and cool the foetus during heat. Foetuses do not have the capacity to regulate temperature themselves,” her paper points out.

At Bhatti Mines, the female workers’ lunch had been lying outside in the 41°C heat. I wondered aloud if it was still edible. “Sometimes our food gets spoiled by lunchtime but we still have to eat it,” said one woman. “We cannot afford to buy new food.” Working barefoot or in chappals, the women suffer from back and neck pain, dizziness and skin rashes. “In winter, the pain is less. In summer, we often feel like our heads will burst,” said another.

In the late afternoon, I spoke to three Dalit women in the predominantly Dalit neighbourhood of Lal Kuah Basti. The women spend their days sorting scraps of textile waste in poorly ventilated godowns. “The air is heavy with cotton dust, and I can’t breathe properly,” said Rupati, already afflicted with byssinosis, a chronic lung disease caused by prolonged exposure to cotton fibres. “We use our saree pallus to cover our face because we are not provided with masks,” another woman sa

The women, who handle waste from major garment factories in Gurugram, Faridabad and Noida, work from 9 am to 6 pm, often in extreme heat. “When it gets hot, our feet swell. It is hard to even stand,” said Rammati. Fans and washrooms are hard to come by in most godowns.

Informally employed, and thus excluded from labour protection laws under the Factory Act, the women  rely on their own resilience and resources to get through the day. “It is hard work, and even tougher in this heat,” said Rani, wiping sweat from her face. “But what choice do we have?”

In all my visits, one theme stood out: the intersectionality of caste, gender and migration that shapes these workers’ experiences. Many are migrants from marginalised communities—Dalits, Adivasis and other oppressed groups which face different vulnerabilities and discrimination. Their housing is cramped, poorly ventilated and lacks cooling, exposing them to further heat stress when they return home. Many women work during menstruation, pregnancy and lactation. WHO emphasises that a lack of rest, hydration and shade intensify heat-related health risks, especially for women in informal sectors.

The science of survival

With a view to better understanding how extreme heat impacts the human body, I spoke to Dr  Ajay Chauhan, head of India’s first heat stroke ward at Delhi’s Ram Manohar Lohia Hospital. “Outdoor workers have a great ability to adapt and acclimatise, but if they stop—say, go to their villages for a break and then return to work—their bodies take a major hit,” he revealed. “The health consequences can range from nausea, vomiting and diarrhoea to severe impacts such as cardiac arrhythmia, neurological damage and respiratory failure, leading to death.”

Dr Chauhan told me that the ward had fewer patients this year. Of the approximately 75 heat-stroke patients admitted last summer, 70 were from low-income backgrounds and had no choice but to work outdoors in the extreme heat. “This group has a fatality rate of over 50 percent,” he said. “Timing is everything in their case. If they aren’t immediately removed from the sun and hydrated, survival is rare.” Dr Chauhan added that co-workers or bystanders needed to take these steps immediately when they saw someone have a heat stroke.

Most outdoor and at-risk workers, however, have no such training or access to emergency care, and have to spend their own money on medicines and doctors or resort to traditional cures such as carrying raw onions in their pockets or drinking cooling beverages like nimbu paani (lemon water) and aam panna (raw mango juice). “Very often when we suffer from heat stress, employers just tell us to rest in a corner for five minutes and return to work,” said a male construction worker.

Walking past a construction site near the Millennium City metro station in Gurugram on my way home from Delhi, I stopped to speak to some workers. I recalled reading that the municipal corporation of Gurugram had issued an advisory during the summer of 2024, stating that builders and residents getting construction work done were mandated to give a three-hour break in the afternoon to workers and cover any medical costs that arose due to heat-related illnesses.

One worker, Ram, who was willing to speak, told me that this was only on paper. “While we should not be working from noon onwards during summers, our contractor often forces us to do so,” he said. “If we object, we risk losing our jobs.”

‘Like harassment or torture’

The following day I proceeded to a large Delhi wholesale warehouse to speak to the security guard there. During the summer of 2024, heat exposure had taken the life of a security guard in Noida, and I was  keen to know how those in the profession coped in summers. Initially reluctant to speak, the guard shared: “We stand for 12 hours, without rotation, in the scorching sun. There are no chairs, no shade. We suffer from dizziness, sometimes we get loose motions, swollen feet and heat rash.”

Another security guard told me that two of his colleagues had fainted last summer from dizziness and vomiting. They were sent home and asked to return the next day. “How do you feel at this moment, talking to me in 42 degrees in the open sun?” he asked. “Working under such conditions is pure harassment, torture. We have complained to the manager but nothing changes—though all we are asking for is a shaded place or a little cabin with a chair and ceiling fan.”

A few kilometres further, I found a heartening example at a government research institute. The security guards there work under a protective roof with a cooler or fan in summer and a blower in  winter. The guards, who rotate between the indoor and outdoor areas, told me that compared to previous jobs, where they were exposed to the elements, this one was very satisfactory. This example shows that worker well-being can be prioritised and achieved with small measures.

Security guards in Gurugram housing societies had different stories to share. “I am lucky; the housing society where I work has a rotation system of day and night shifts. We can also rest in a cool area and have access to ample cold water,” said one. Another one was less fortunate. “I live in cramped housing in Chakkarpur without adequate cooling,” he said. “During the day too, I am exposed to extreme heat so I get no break. It has affected my health.”

A delivery rider from Chakkarpur, a largely migrant basti in Gurugram, told me: “We deliver parcels  at the hottest time of the day. We don’t get even five minutes to rest.” When I asked him how customers treated him, he replied: “People yell at us when we are late. They treat us like garbage. It is rare to be offered water when we arrive exhausted and thirsty at someone’s doorstep.”

The road ahead

My journey into the lives of Delhi’s outdoor workers was a strong reminder of the human cost of climate change and urban growth. These are essential workers who keep Delhi functioning; yet, their voices often go unheard due to their caste, gender and insecure employment status. Their stories highlight the urgent need for comprehensive policies and practices that address not just climate adaptation but also social justice.

What makes these stories harder to bear is the fact that so much of the impact the workers face is preventable. Delhi’s Heat Action Plans do not explicitly take into account the vulnerabilities of Dalit workers, Beena Pallical of the National Campaign on Dalit Human Rights told me. These vulnerabilities include hazardous outdoor work, often less pay than other workers which prevents them from taking days off to recuperate from illness, and poor housing conditions with no respite from the heat. A 2023 study from IIM Bangalore has described this phenomenon as “thermal injustice”, the idea that caste, occupation, and heat exposure intersect to amplify inequality.

As India’s cities heat up, the solutions must first take into account those who bear the greatest burden. Recognising extreme heat as an occupational hazard would be a good start, potentially leading to legal protections such as paid rest breaks, hydration facilities, protective equipment and emergency care access. A national heat index combining humidity and temperature could trigger heat alerts more effectively.

Midday work bans, as implemented in Qatar, need to be enforced, not just announced. Annual health checkups must be made mandatory for outdoor workers as also training for both workers and employers on how to prevent heat-related impacts in high-risk sectors. In Pune, a successful heat and health awareness workshop for contractors and safety officers on construction sites was introduced by Heatwatch, which could be replicated in Delhi NCR.

Temporary cooling stations, as found in Ahmedabad, could be set up in temples, malls and other public buildings in high-risk zones near construction sites, markets and traffic junctions. These stations could be basic—consisting of a fan, drinking water, some shaded chairs and a first-aid kit—but lifesavers for those in need.

Mobile health camps should visit worker-dense areas during the summer months. Community organisations and resident welfare associations could help set up matkas (earthen pots) of water for delivery workers. Every drop of water and every minute out of the sun matters in a heat emergency.

Financial protection is vital. In Noida, when temperatures crossed 42°C for five consecutive days this June, a pilot project provided Rs 3,000 in insurance payouts to migrant construction workers. This temperature-linked insurance, backed by Jan Sahas and Digit Insurance, helped workers avoid going into debt.

Heat protection measures—providing shade, water, protective gear and healthcare—must be prioritised, especially for migrant informal workers, particularly women, as these are disproportionately affected. Recognising their rights and integrating their voices into climate-resilience planning is not just ethical; it is essential for building a just and sustainable city.

This summer is over. But the next one is already on its way. The heat will return. So must our actions.

Edited by Radha Rajadhyaksha

Tulika Bansal works on the intersection of human rights and responsible business conduct. Her work focuses on labour issues, environmental impacts, climate justice and gender inequality.