As climate shocks grow more frequent and overlapping, India must urgently shift from a relief-centric disaster model to one that builds long-term community resilience, says Rohini Nilekani, Chairman of Rohini Nilekani Philanthropies. In an interview with TNIE, she says that millions remain trapped in cycles of loss because systems still underestimate the everyday, human toll of climate extremes. Excerpts:
You emphasise that the “first mile is where samaaj networks step in”. What makes these informal networks succeed where formal systems struggle?
India has a huge but under-recognised asset: social capital. Nearly 60 million women are part of community groups and self-help networks. These trusted relationships activate long before formal aid arrives. People know who is missing, who needs medicines, and which route is passable. Formal systems operate at scale, and they must, but they tend to be standardised. Communities, on the other hand, are deeply contextual. The shift we need is simple: resource and train these networks, and integrate their knowledge into planning.
Was there a particular interaction that changed how you personally think about resilience?
One that stayed with me was hearing from first responders, who said that after floods, everyone sends blankets. But sometimes what people urgently need are completely different things, like tools, dry food, medicines, or support to restart livelihoods. It drove home a basic truth. Relief without local listening often misses the mark. That is why we argue the data—weather, flood patterns, heat alerts—must sit not only with institutions but with communities themselves. When people understand their own risk, their response becomes far more effective.
India has become good at saving lives. What convinced you that survival alone is no longer enough?
India deserves credit. Early evacuations and disaster response systems have reduced mortality. But what we saw on the ground is that while people survive the event, their livelihoods, education, health, and dignity continue to erode afterwards. For example, poor households can lose up to 85% of their annual income from a disaster; extreme weather events occurred on 86% of days in 2023, and back-to-back shocks leave little time to rebuild. Yes, we are saving lives, but many families are stuck in a permanent recovery loop. That is why survival is no longer enough.
You say 85% of districts are exposed to major hazards. How is this reshaping everyday life in ways policy makers still underestimate?
The biggest underestimation is the extent to which disasters now intersect with development. Floods are shutting schools for weeks. In drought-prone areas, 20–25% of school absenteeism is linked to climate stress like water collection. Health systems are disrupted. Livelihoods become unstable. Migration rises. What policymakers often see is an event. Families experience a continuous erosion of stability. If recovery takes two decades but shocks recur every few years, families never rebuild their asset base. They sell livestock, pull kids out of school, or take high-interest loans to survive. Over time, this becomes intergenerational poverty, not just temporary distress.
You warn of “disaster aid fatigue”. Are we at risk of becoming emotionally numb?
There are signs of fatigue. First responders told us it is becoming harder to raise funds after floods, especially in remote areas. When disasters happen so frequently, public empathy can be dulled. But that is exactly why we must shift the narrative. We must invest before the disaster, in preparedness, local capacity, and financial buffers.
What about invisible losses such as mental health stress, dignity, and social bonds? Why do these human dimensions still remain under-reported?
Because our systems measure what is easy to count. Economic loss is visible. Trauma is not. Yet the psychological toll is profound. After the Uttarakhand floods, over 70% of survivors reported depression or PTSD. We call this an attention failure and a design failure. Until media and policymakers deliberately track these human dimensions, they’ll remain invisible.
Women and children face disproportionately higher mortality risks. What blind spots are still putting them in harm’s way?
Disaster systems are still implicitly designed for what we call the “default citizen”, an able-bodied adult man with documents and mobility. But reality is different. Women and children can face up to 14 times higher mortality risk in disasters. Many women lack land titles, blocking compensation. Relief shelters often ignore safety and privacy needs. Unless gender and social realities are built into planning from the start, these gaps will persist.