Adam Hartley | New Delhi
The air over South Asia hangs heavy with an annual menace: smog so thick and toxic that it has sparked health emergencies, shut schools, and disrupted daily life across cities like Delhi and Lahore. This year’s crisis, however, feels particularly acute as governments in India, Pakistan, and Bangladesh grapple with the public health fallout of some of the world’s most hazardous air quality.
In Delhi, where air pollution routinely spikes during the winter, the Air Quality Index (AQI) recently hit a season-high “severe” level. A noxious mix of industrial emissions, vehicular pollution, and stubble burning from neighbouring states has blanketed the capital in dense smog. Primary schools have been closed, and flights and trains are facing delays as the toxic haze disrupts life for the city’s 30 million residents. Health experts warn the smog could shave years off the life expectancy of those exposed, especially children and the elderly.
Across the border in Pakistan’s Lahore, the situation is even grimmer. The city, home to 11 million people, recorded an AQI of 710 earlier this week, making it the most polluted city in the world. Residents have taken to wearing masks indoors, and hospitals are overwhelmed as thousands seek treatment for respiratory illnesses. “Smog is currently a national disaster,” declared Marriyum Aurangzeb, Pakistan’s Senior Minister, who announced a health emergency and a temporary lockdown in key urban centres. Schools and universities have moved online, construction projects have been paused, and restaurants are closing early in an attempt to curb pollution levels.
The roots of this crisis are shared across the region. Farmers burning crop stubble, emissions from coal-based industries, and the swelling number of vehicles on the roads exacerbate the pollution. Cooler winter temperatures and stagnant air worsen the situation, trapping harmful particulate matter such as PM2.5 – tiny particles that penetrate deep into the lungs and bloodstream. In some areas, PM2.5 levels have soared to more than 50 times the World Health Organization’s safe limit.
Dr. Muhammad Ashraf, a pulmonologist in Lahore, likened the health crisis to a silent pandemic. “This is more of an emergency than COVID-19. Every patient I see has respiratory complications, and the scale of suffering is unprecedented,” he said. He urged governments to act pre-emptively to mitigate the crisis before smog season begins each year.
In India, too, there is growing frustration with piecemeal responses to what has become a predictable annual crisis. Measures like using drones to spray water mist or temporary construction bans have been derided as inadequate. “Pollution knows no borders,” said a senior official in Delhi, calling for a coordinated regional response among India, Pakistan, and Bangladesh. The official emphasised the need for long-term solutions that address agricultural practices, clean energy transitions, and stricter emission controls.
For now, millions across South Asia remain trapped under a toxic canopy of haze, with their health, productivity, and quality of life hanging in the balance. As smog season stretches from October to January, residents are left hoping for rain or wind to offer temporary respite – and for leaders to rise above politics to tackle a crisis that transcends borders.
