AnalysisIndia is mopping up from unprecedented flooding. Here's what it's like to be caught up in South Asia's climate crisis
On an early morning in the middle of India's monsoon season, I set off on a small plane with some friends on our way to visit the Himalayan mountain town of Manali.
As the propellers chugged through the sky, we descended between storm clouds and jagged mountain peaks dotted with villages.
I reached for my phone and checked the weather forecast once we landed — supposedly, we could expect three days of rain.
The Manali region is one of the best places to visit as a tourist at this time of year because, despite the monsoon affecting much of the country, its high altitude means it doesn't usually get too much rain.
It's a tourist hub for people keen on skiing the Himalayas in the winter.
But it's summer now and we planned on trekking through the picturesque landscape.
But as we drove into town, the torrential downpour started.
Later that day, we received word that we wouldn't be able to leave Manali. The power went out, so local hotels and restaurants used candles to keep customers comfortable.
The Manaslu River that runs through the town was overflowing and we eventually lost all phone reception.
ATMs stopped working and we heard some roads had been damaged, so we bunkered down until the rain stopped.
Four days later, safe from the flooding and unaware of just how much damage this weather was causing, the reception came back.
We found out our families, friends, and colleagues had been searching for us, scared for our safety.
More than 100 people have been killed because of heavy rains in northern India and we watched terrifying footage of bridges, homes, hotels and cars being swept away in Himachal Pradesh.
Eight towns in the state, including Manali, broke records for the most rain in a single day in July, according to the Indian Meteorology Department.
Loading...Highways destroyed and towns cut off from supplies in unprecedented flooding
After days of closure, some back roads finally reopened, allowing us to leave the region and take a long journey back to Delhi.
We sat in standstill traffic, some of it immobilised for up to 12 hours, to allow critical supplies to get into the area, and witnessed the unprecedented landslide damage for ourselves.
More than 1,000 roads have been closed, cutting off major highways into the popular tourist region.
One local restaurant owner told me it would take years to rebuild the infrastructure and draw visitors back to the region.
"People won't come back for years," he told us.
A road contractor said rebuilding the highways would be a huge task.
In the Chandertal area, authorities used helicopters to rescue nearly 300 stranded people, mainly tourists.
Hikers who started their treks before the rain hit told us they were stuck in their tents in soaking sleeping bags, unable to get dry or warm in the relentless downpour and cold temperatures.
We met a group who were only able to leave their hike and cross the raging river because a local with a crane lifted them out.
"It was the scariest moment of my life," one of them told us.
The reality of living on the front lines of the climate crisis
While much of the local government attention and media coverage was focused on stranded tourists — one Indian paper even referenced our group — the people who call this area home have been left with deep scars in a state facing millions of dollars of damage.
Locals offered tourists free food and accommodation in their homes and hotels but, while visitors like us were eventually able to evacuate, residents are now cleaning up and trying to restore their livelihoods on their own.
A coalition of farmer groups, the Samyukt Kisan Morcha, has called on the Indian government to declare the floods and landslides a national calamity and offer people compensation for their lost crops.
"Properties worth [millions] of rupees and numerous cattle have been lost," an organisation spokesman said.
While Himachal Pradesh has been the hardest hit, rain damage has swept across other parts of northern India too.
In the capital Delhi, where I live, the Yamuna River has been at its highest level in 45 years, leading to flooding, evacuations and school closures.
As rains battered Himachal Pradesh, people in Ladakh, to the north, were battling unseasonable snowfall — unheard of in July.
This is the reality of living in South Asia: record-breaking weather that's becoming incrementally more extreme because of climate change.
Since I started my posting as the South Asia correspondent just a year and a half ago, I've covered floods in Pakistan and Bangladesh, and melting Himalayan glaciers.
Last year, I reported from a giant rubbish pile on the outskirts of Delhi that caught fire during a record-breaking heatwave that pushed temperatures well above 40 degrees Celsius.
I'm among a minority of people in India who can afford an air conditioner. Last year, 2,227 people died because of extreme weather events, according to the India Meteorological Department.
More than 2 billion people live in South Asia, on the front lines of the climate crisis, testing the limits of human survival among some of the most vulnerable people on the planet.
Scientists say the monsoon season is more erratic and unpredictable so disasters like what we experienced in Himachal Pradesh are only going to become more common and more intense if nothing changes.
Indian authorities are being urged to build new infrastructure such as roads and car parks away from river flood zones and plan cities to mitigate the risks of climate change.
But ultimately, while more developed countries, like Australia, and top global carbon emitters, like India, lag on progress on climate action, people in this part of the world will continue to suffer.