Fragile Heights

Few decisions better illustrate India’s developmental paradox than the government’s recent approval of two major ropeway projects in Uttarakhand. The Cabinet Committee on Economic Affairs (CCEA) has greenlit a 12.9 km ropeway from Sonprayag to Kedarnath and a 12.4 km ropeway to Hemkund Sahib, collectively costing over Rs. 6,800 crore ($820 million). These projects, hailed as game-changers for religious tourism, promise to slash travel times from arduous treks of eight hours to mere minutes. But the speed with which pilgrims will ascend the Himalayas is matched only by the pace at which these fragile mountains are being ravaged in the name of progress.

In theory, ropeways are an elegant alternative to road-building in ecologically sensitive zones. By reducing the need for wider roads, they can mitigate deforestation and land degradation. Yet, the reality is far from this ideal. The construction of such large-scale infrastructure requires excavation and blasting - activities that destabilize mountain slopes already prone to landslides and avalanches. The Kedarnath and Hemkund Sahib projects will involve disturbing fragile ecosystems that act as natural buffers against disasters.

Even as the government pushes forward with its ambitious ‘Parvatmala Pariyojana,’ the Himalayas are reeling from a series of natural disasters. Just days before the ropeway approvals, an avalanche in Uttarakhand’s Chamoli district had killed eight people and left dozens stranded. Such tragedies have become increasingly frequent. In 2021, a glacier burst in the same district, triggering a deadly flood that swept away a hydroelectric project. Last year, the entire town of Joshimath, an important stop for pilgrims, began sinking due to unchecked construction and unregulated tourism.

Proponents argue that these ropeways will not only boost religious tourism but also reduce the burden on fragile trekking routes, where thousands of mules carry pilgrims to shrines, eroding soil and polluting river sources. But this argument assumes that ropeways will replace rather than add to existing foot traffic. The reality is that ropeways will vastly increase the number of visitors, putting additional strain on local ecosystems. Kedarnath already receives two million pilgrims annually; with a ropeway capable of ferrying 18,000 people per day, that number will soar. The influx will lead to greater demand for hotels, roads and commercial infrastructure, bringing forth more deforestation, waste and water stress.India is not alone in grappling with the ecological consequences of high-altitude infrastructure. Nepal’s government had debated similar ropeway projects for Mount Everest’s base camp, and China has built extensive cable car networks to boost tourism in Tibet’s remote monasteries. Yet, even China, known for its aggressive infrastructure push, has faced severe consequences.

None of this is to say that Uttarakhand should be frozen in time, deprived of economic opportunities. But development must be tempered with foresight. The focus should shift from high-risk projects to sustainable tourism models emphasizing conservation over convenience. A limited permit system like Bhutan’s could help regulate footfall. Investment in disaster-resilient infrastructure should take precedence over grandiose projects.