BENGALURU: Growing up, I used to scoff at people who insisted on air conditioning, convinced they were either overly pampered or out of touch. I wasn’t exactly wealthy, but I never felt deprived either. Air conditioning always seemed an indulgence – a symbol of privilege, a detachment from the natural world. I could accept it in places like cinemas, but at home? In a city like Bengaluru? No.
But this past summer changed everything.
I’ve been lucky enough to live on the city’s outskirts, with a decent amount of greenery and a constant breeze. Yet, the last few summers had become increasingly unbearable, especially at night, with temperatures hovering in the mid-20s. This summer was a notch up.
After nearly two months of restless, sweaty nights, I finally surrendered and ordered an air conditioning unit, joining the ranks of thousands doing the same at the time. It was one of the last units available and cost a small fortune, so when two large boxes finally arrived after a week’s wait, I felt a surge of relief and excitement.
The feeling didn’t last long, however, when I was faced with the practical nightmare of finding a technician to come and install the thing. Four weeks and hundreds of phone calls later, the indoor and outdoor units were finally mounted on my walls.
I had barely enjoyed two nights of blissful sleep when the heat broke, and the summer rains set in! That was six months ago, and I’ve probably used my expensive box of coils and wires no more than three times a month. Let’s just say my view on air conditioning remains...complicated.
Granted, most modern air conditioning units don’t use ozone-depleting hydrofluorocarbons (HFCs) anymore, but they’re still power guzzlers, accounting for around seven per cent of global energy consumption. And when you consider that air conditioning is largely prevalent in the Global North and urban centres of developing countries, that’s a significant share.
Another troubling aspect of air conditioning is how it works – by expelling heat and humidity from indoors to the outdoors. It’s like gathering all the rubbish from inside your home and dumping it in the street. This expelled heat can accumulate when there are a lot of air conditioning units in proximity, creating what’s known as the Urban Heat Island Effect. If you’re wealthy, you stay cool; if not, you suffer both the natural heat and the extra warmth wafting in from your neighbour’s AC.
ACs are also the most loved punching bags for climate activists. How can the very people who have the most power to mitigate this catastrophe do so if they don’t believe it’s happening? How would you know, if you move from a cosy, climate-controlled office to a climate-controlled car, and to a climate-controlled home? How would you even notice if the outside world is practically burning?
Yet the biggest change these modern marvels have brought about, one we barely notice, is how they’ve fundamentally altered our approach to city-building. Originally invented to control the climate in critical industrial settings (like printing presses), air conditioning has taken over the world for its sheer convenience and comfort. It’s arguably the most pervasive export of a liberal, globalised economy. Along the way, however, air conditioning has eroded the subtleties of local culture in one of the most visible ways – architecture.
A hundred years ago, if you visited a distant city or town, the buildings would have looked distinctly local. When we travel to places like Japan, Scandinavia, Alaska, or even rural Karnataka, we marvel at the unique architecture of old, preserved buildings. The local climate and available materials largely dictated architectural style. If you built a skyscraper all encased in glass in the middle of Rajasthan, for example, you’d be roasted alive. Yet now, dozens of such buildings are constructed each year in Dubai, right in the desert. All thanks to the magic of air conditioning.
Back then, design wasn’t just about making things look good (although aesthetics certainly had a say) – it was about making sure buildings stayed liveable year-round, no matter the climate. Today, though, we’ve found ourselves in a bit of a bind. When Bengaluru was still pleasantly cool, and climate change hadn’t disrupted global weather systems, adopting Western building techniques seemed almost reasonable. We weren’t building in deserts like Dubai or worse, Arizona, but we’d still traded away a good chunk of our ancestors’ knowledge about building for the local climate.
Now, we’re left relying on air conditioning just to get through the summer nights – unless, of course, we’re ready to tear down our buildings and start from scratch.
(The writer’s views are personal)